Him
by Nervous Laughter
Summary: Not DH Compatible. Harry begins to develop feelings for someone he shouldn't. Shouldn't, because he had been absolutely certain she was Death Eaterbound. But after developing a shortlived obsession, he begins to lose it...his hatred for Pansy Parkinso
1. Chapter 1

Warning: This chapter (and fic, for that matter) contains strong language and a few adult themes. That's why it's rated M, meaning mature. So if you didn't already see the M when you clicked this fic, and don't want to read an M-rated fic, click your back button…….NOW! And on with the story!

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any of the other copyrighted characters. Credit must be given to J.K. Rowling.

* * *

Him

Chapter One

He had stopped just in time. If he hadn't looked up right at that moment he wouldn't have seen her suddenly freeze. He glanced down to check that his feet weren't sticking out of his invisibility cloak.

"What, Potter?" Pansy turned around and narrowed her eyes. Harry's eyes widened a bit and he pretended he hadn't been shocked by her outburst.

"How did you know I was behind you?" Harry asked casually as he pulled his cloak off. Pansy flashed her white teeth at him in a mock-smile before answering in an annoyed voice.

"You're not very discreet, you know." She took a step away from him but he moved closer. Her mouth tightened. "I've seen you pull your invisibility cloak on. You've been following me for a week." Her hands were on her hips now. "I can hear you walking!" She lifted an accusing eyebrow and pointed to the frozen grass in front of Hogwarts.

"Now it's my turn for questions." She said as she flipped her medium-length dark hair. "Why have you been following me? Enjoy watching me cry, do you?" She wore a bitter smile before her expression fell into its familiar scowl. Harry shook his head hurriedly, taking a reluctant step away at the sign of her anger.

"No! I mean, I wanted to make sure you were okay." His voice had gotten softer near the end, mostly because she was shaking her head incredulously.

"Why? We aren't friends," she laughed scornfully, "and you've definitely made it clear in the past that you wish I didn't exist!" He could see the color begin to rise in her cheeks. He wanted to say something to calm her, but it wouldn't be right; it wasn't his place to do so.

"Really?" He asked her sincerely. Her frown deepened. "Because it always seemed like the other way around." He stated factually. He wasn't too surprised when she began to push past him.

"Wait," Harry grabbed her arm, stopping her, and was able to see her eyes shining from unshed tears. "I've been worried about you." He cringed at his words, knowing he should have said something else. "I want you to be like the old Pansy. I want you to make fun of me and be rude. You haven't been the same since he's left."

"Why do you care?" She questioned again, sounding exasperated now. He could feel her begin to struggle under his grip so he released her.

"I—It's all different." He tilted his head towards the castle. "I just want a bit of normalcy in my life." He met her eyes eagerly. "If I could just help—"

"Stop!" She shouted as she wiped a tear on her robe sleeve, "Stop doing this! You have this stupid hero-complex, Harry Potter!" She spat his name. He looked affronted.

"Though," A bit of her usual drawl seeped into her voice, "Your motives to '_help'_ are unusually selfish of you." She shook her head at his skeptical look. "You don't care about me or anyone else. As long as you feel _comfortable_."

"Bull." He retorted, looking extremely offended.

"Whatever. But you are just trying to be a hero again." She shoved her hands in her pockets as she moved towards him.

"Stop it." She said softly, her face very close to his. Harry frowned at the proximity. "Stop trying to help people. I don't need your fucking concern and sympathy." She continued past him and he watched her walk all the way back to the castle.

"Concern and sympathy?" Harry furrowed his brow in unease. No. Never. Not for her. He could feel his mouth growing dry. But then what was that miserable feeling he got every time he had seen her cry? Crying over him, _Malfoy_? Harry continued to mutter to himself as he slowly made his way back to the castle.

* * *

Review! 


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any of the other copyrighted characters. Credit must be given to J.K. Rowling.

Warning: This chapter (and fic, for that matter) contains strong language and a few adult themes. That's why it's rated M, meaning mature. So if you didn't already see the M when you clicked this fic, and don't want to read an M-rated fic, click your back button…….NOW! And on with the story!

* * *

Him

Chapter 2

_Brrrup. __Brrrup. __Brrrup. _Harry sat in Charms, lazily watching Pansy tapping her fingernails against her desk. Her head was in her left hand, and every once in a while her eyes would droop shut. She hadn't spoken to him in a week. Of course, they weren't known to be very social with one another to begin with. In fact, Harry only remembered a few actual exchanges with her his entire stay at Hogwarts, and they hadn't been very friendly exchanges, to say the least. Professor Flitwick's lecture fell on deaf ears as Harry felt his eyes begin to droop.

"Wake up, mate," Ron said softly, shaking Harry's arm gently. Harry's eyes flew open and automatically settled on Pansy's seat. She was gone. Harry's brow furrowed as he looked up at his standing friend.

"You fell asleep. Class is over." Ron pointed to the students filing out of the classroom. Harry gathered his books and walked silently with Ron to lunch. They didn't have much to say these days—not since Hermione left. The Order of the Phoenix had felt that Hermione and her parents would be safer if they were hidden temporarily. Hermione, Along with being muggleborn, was also Harry's best friend; she was higher up on the hit list than any of the other muggleborns at Hogwarts. Harry and Ron had been glad to know she was safe, but without her, they led empty, bland lives. That was one of the reasons Harry had followed Pansy that first time.

Harry had been bored—again. It had been two weeks ago, the beginning of October and the start of another snowy winter.

* * *

_Harry saw the snow begin to fall from his dormitory window. It wasn't extremely late, but it was past curfew. He didn't care, though. He wanted to be outside. He removed his invisibility cloak from his trunk, careful not to wake his dorm mate—Ron, Neville, and Dean. Seamus' mother had not allowed him to return to Hogwarts because of an impending war. Harry had shaken his head in annoyance when he had seen how many students had returned to Hogwarts. The school had been reduced to half its normal size. Even without Dumbledore, Hogwarts was by far the safest place to be. In fact, it was because they were without Dumbledore that school was being kept so safe. _

_Minutes later, Harry, safely hidden under his cloak, was standing outside. He looked up and watched the white snowflakes fall from the black sky. There was a slight breeze that rustled the leaves of the old, creaking trees scattered throughout the grounds. Harry had closed his eyes to listen to the calming sound of the trees when he heard a new sound—the crunching of feet on new snow. He opened his eyes in alarm, his heart beating wildly. He thought at first it was Moody. He could, after all, see through his cloak. Perhaps he had seen him leaving the castle. The sight of Pansy Parkinson, though, was quite a surprise to him. He wondered what she was doing up this late. The first thing that entered his mind was Death Eater business. Though he had never heard her mention the group directly, she had made no effort to denounce the group. He followed her._

_She stopped at an enclosure of old trees at the edge of the grounds where she pulled herself up onto a tree stump. She sat there silently, staring up at the sky like Harry had been doing only moments __before. Harry realized with embarrassment that perhaps she just wanted to be alone, like he had. He felt like he was intruding and yet, he couldn't bring himself to leave. His eyes were glued to Pansy's face. He had never seen her without a scowl before. Even when she was with __Malfoy__ she had always been glowering at someone. Her expression was unguarded now—relaxed. She looked…beautiful. He could feel his cheeks burn at the thought. No, not beautiful. Her black hair fell to her shoulders and her blue eyes—_

_Her blue eyes were rimmed with tears. __Harry was startled by the tears, and even more startled by her sudden sobbing.__ She held her head in her hands and was crying loudly now, and Harry couldn't help but wonder why she was upset. He wrapped his invisibility cloak tighter around himself as he slowly shuffled away._

"_Draco," she had sniffled very softly. Harry had still heard her, though. __Him?__ She was crying over _that

* * *

Harry had found that she returned often to the enclosure of trees. Sometimes she would cry, sometimes not. Sometimes she came during night, sometimes during day. One day she would make multiple trips, the next none at all. He supposed he had become quite obsessed with following her. She hadn't returned since she had caught him, though.

"Harry?" He looked up at his ginger-haired friend and found that he looked worried. "Are you alright? You haven't said a word since we left class." He expressed his concern as they made their way over to the Gryffindor table. They plopped down beside Dean and Neville.

"I'm fine. I was just thinking." Ron nodded, unconvinced, and turned to pile food on his plate. Harry's stomach grumbled loudly and he too began piling food onto his plate. The Great Hall buzzed with excited chatter. Granted, the chatter was quieter than it once was.

* * *

Harry and Ron walked into Transfiguration in much better spirits. They had both received owls from Hermione, who informed them she was having a brilliant time where she was staying. That meant nothing. Hermione had a good time wherever she went, so she could have been anywhere. She did, however, inform them that the Order was looking into her visiting them or them her.

Class hadn't started yet so students were drifting about the classroom, chatting with friends. Harry and Ron set their bags on their desks. There was a cry of excitement from the door. Several people had stopped talking to watch Dean, a grin plastered on his face, walk quickly over to McGonagall's desk and pluck up a black and white ball.

"It's a football, Harry!" Dean had directed the statement towards Harry, knowing he was probably the only other one in the room who knew what it was. He dropped the ball to the ground and kicked it towards Harry and Ron.

"What do you do with it?" Ron asked as he picked the ball up and inspected it. Harry laughed and swatted the ball from his hands.

"You kick it." Harry kicked it back towards Dean.

"Why?" Ron asked skeptically as he watched Dean kick it towards them.

"I—Because—For fun." Harry grinned at the look on Ron's face. He clearly didn't care for it.

"Dean, you'd better put that back on McGonagall's desk," Harry said as he motioned towards the professor's desk without looking. He was horrified when he heard a yelp of outrage, realizing he had just whacked someone. He turned slowly and began apologizing to whoever he had hit. He was stunned when his eyes connected with familiar blue ones. Pansy's mouth hung open in outrage as her two hands clutched her left breast protectively.

"Pervert! Potter's a fucking pervert!" she shrieked loud enough for the entire class to hear, and for McGonagall as well.

"Language, Parkinson! Five points from Slytherin," she said as an afterthought. "Everyone take your seats. Today we will be learning how to transfigure magical items into muggle ones." She made her way over to her desk and grabbed the football, turning it back to a Foe-glass. Pansy was still standing in the same spot.

"Miss Parkinson, please take your seat," McGonagall said firmly, becoming impatient.

"But—But I've just been assaulted!" Pansy's normal scowl was replaced by a flabbergasted look. McGonagall rolled her eyes.

"You're overreacting. Now take your seat, please. We've already wasted five minutes of teaching time." McGonagall pointed to the large clock on the wall to prove her point. Pansy stamped her foot in fury.

"Of course! Perfect Potter would never do something so outrageous! I must be making it up," she spat. The class was frozen in their seats. "This is fucking incredible!" Her voice wavered as the adrenaline pumped through her body. She grabbed her bag and ran heatedly from the classroom. McGonagall raised her eyebrows in surprise.

"It was an accident," Harry muttered to Ron, who shrugged indifferently in return. With the drama over—or having left, rather—the class began to snicker. McGonagall waved her hand in annoyance and began her lesson.

* * *

It was cold outside. And dark. The wind howled angrily through the swaying trees. The dark storm clouds overhead threatened rain. Deep, rolling thunder shook the ground. Harry's nose was frozen. So were the tips of his fingers. Normally, the thought of leaving the castle during such fierce weather would have been out of the question. But she hadn't been at dinner.

Harry stopped at the enclosure. He hadn't worn his invisibility cloak this time; he wanted to talk to her. She was sitting on that stump again, her cloak wrapped tightly around her small frame. She had been resting her head on her arms, but as Harry approached she sat up and glared.

"Stop. Don't come any closer to me." She stood up on the stump and towered over him. He could see her reaching for her wand as she stared him down.

"I'm not trying to hurt you, Pansy—"

"Parkinson to you." She corrected quickly.

"Parkinson…I just," Harry hesitated as he watched her mouth tighten in anger, "wanted to apologize for this afternoon. If I had known you were standing there, I wouldn't have pointed." He looked away from her and watched as lightening struck a spot a few miles away. She didn't say anything. Harry continued without looking at her.

"McGonagall was out of line. It wasn't fair the way she treated you. If it had been me—"

"I thought I said I didn't need your fucking sympathy," Pansy said softly as she sat back down on the stump. She was no longer glaring. Her face was void of everything but fatigue.

"It's not like I can help it," he exclaimed, his voice deepening in anger as he remembered back to third year, when he had allowed Wormtail to slip through his fingers. Because he hadn't wanted Sirius to deal with him himself. Pansy watched with mild interest as Harry's green eyes darkened.

"Potter?" she asked as Harry looked up at her curiously. "What do you want with me, again?" She sneered at him in disgust. "Sex? A blow job, maybe?"

"NO!" Harry shook his head furiously, startled by her propositions. He could already feel his ears begin to redden.

"Don't look so shocked, Potter. Like I'd really do that with you," she scoffed.

"No. I don't want anything from you," he denied.

"Good." She smiled sweetly at him. If it hadn't been so cold out, it might have melted him. "I'm leaving Hogwarts in the morning."

* * *


	3. Chapter 3

Warning: Adult language and themes present in this chapter!

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any of the other copyrighted characters. Credit must be given to J.K. Rowling.

* * *

Him

Chapter 3

"You're what?" Harry exclaimed as he watched Pansy's smile falter. A flash of lightening a distance to their right startled her into standing. She avoided his gaze as she climbed down and made to leave. Harry grabbed her arm.

"I'm leaving!" she shouted louder than necessary as she met his eyes. "You heard me the first time, Potter. Merlin! Why do you care?" she said wearily and frowned at him expectantly. He was unable to provide an answer—he merely frowned back and shrugged.

"Don't you think you'd be safer here at Hogwarts?" he questioned as he slowly released her arm. He _wasn't_ sure why he cared. It could have been because she might be more susceptible to Death Eater activity at home. It could have been because he didn't want to see another student drop-out of school. Or it could have been because of something else—that faint tugging at his heart every time he heard her voice. He couldn't quite explain what the tugging meant, so he usually ignored it or labeled it as sickness.

"Maybe I just don't want to be here anymore. I don't have one friend at this stupid school. They've all been removed by their parents." Instinctively, Harry had nearly told her that he was her friend, but had caught himself just in time. He could already imagine her face scrunching into its usual scowl. They were definitely not friends. Far from it, in fact. The wind picked up suddenly and began to wail in rage.

"You're lying," Harry said so quietly she had barely heard it over the howling wind. She tried to search his eyes, but he revealed nothing. It was almost as if he had been trained in Occlumency, she thought to herself.

"What do you mean?" She stared back at him with a half-lidded gaze as her hair whipped around her face furiously. She challenged him to look away. He refused.

"You could care less if you had friends at Hogwarts," he said roughly. "You want to leave because of another reason." Pansy looked away.

"Sod off, Potter!" she yelled at the frozen ground. She squeezed her hands into fists and bit her bottom lip in anger. She could feel her arms begin to shake with adrenaline.

"So I'm right, then?" Harry smiled smugly as he watched Pansy's mouth fall open in outrage. After an uncomfortable pause, she closed her mouth and shook her head sadly.

"You don't know what it's like, Potter, being without someone you care so much about," she said softly as she narrowed her eyes. She was surprised to find Harry returning the livid glare.

"Take your own advice, Parkinson. Sod off. I've been without Hermione's company just as long as you've been without your precious Malfoy," Harry spat at the stunned Pansy. She wondered how Potter knew. She shook her head slowly again.

"It's not the same though." Her voice was more timid now that Harry had revealed what he knew. Had he known all along that she had been missing Draco? Was that why he'd been stalking her? "I mean, Granger's a mudblood." Though she had said this gently, it didn't stop Harry from reacting from his anger. Before Pansy knew what had happened, she was sprawled on the ground, gripping her stinging shoulder. He had shoved her.

"Fucking prat! That really _was_ assault this time!" Harry watched in shock as she guardedly rose to her feet. He looked down at his numb hands and cursed himself. She had reminded him strongly of Bellatrix Lestrange at that moment, and he hadn't been able to restrain himself. It took all his strength not to punch her in the face. Unfortunately, he hadn't been able to stop himself from shoving her down.

"I'm so sorry, Pansy. I don't know what happened." She was brushing the snow and leaves off her robes as he tried to explain himself.

"Shut up, Potter. Don't apologize. You've shown me what kind of person you really are," she said uninterestedly as she made to leave again.

"Wait!" he said, pulling her arm once more. Pansy sighed and turned around unhurriedly. She was startled when he crushed his mouth to hers fervently, pulling her closer to his warm body to deepen the kiss. Pansy's surprised eyes slowly shut as Harry devoured her mouth roughly. She felt her arms snake their way around him of their own accord as his hot tongue traced the outline of her mouth. He kissed her so passionately she nearly collapsed.

She sighed weakly against his mouth as his tongue made its way in, exploring every inch as his hands made their way into her robes and under the hem of her shirt. She could feel her body burning as he cupped her breasts in his hands. Her moans were growing louder now, nearly mimicking the moaning wind. Harry was nipping her neck with his teeth as she pressed her hips against him. And then…she stopped.

Harry found himself sprawled on the ground, breathing heavily and his eyes still glazed with want. Pansy had shoved him down, just as he had done to her moments before.

"Looks like you were lying too," Pansy smiled contemptuously. "You said you didn't want sex." Harry's eyes cleared in a flash as he realized what she had said.

"No—" But it was too late. Pansy had walk hurriedly out of the enclosure and back towards the school, leaving Harry sitting on the frozen ground, the wind blowing a circle of leaves and snowflakes around him.

* * *

Steam from the hot water filled the tiny bathroom and the soft trickle of water could be heard from behind the shower curtain. Pansy mumbled to herself as she scrubbed her breasts raw. She was quite distressed about the way she had reacted to Potter tonight. She should have pulled away the second he had touched her. But she hadn't—she had enjoyed it, in fact. It had happened so quickly, though. What would Draco have said?

Yes, what would he have said, she wondered as she scrubbed her neck. Nothing, probably. He would have jumped Potter and beat him to a pulp. She smiled to herself. No, Potter would beat Draco to a pulp. Draco had never been much of a fighter. He fought with words.

Pansy shivered as she stepped out of the shower and wrapped herself in a towel. She wiped the mirror off and stared at her complexion. She could see the dark bags under her eyes. She looked pale, but that was partly due to her dark hair. Sighing, she walked out of the bathroom and into her bedroom. She dropped her towel and dressed in her nightclothes. Exhausted, she collapsed on her large bed and looked over at her nightstand.

A picture of a smirking Draco stared back at her. She had taken it last year, before Christmas. They had always been close friends, but they had only started dating the summer after fifth year. They hadn't been very serious, but it had still stung when he had disappeared with Snape. He had kept his entire plan a secret from her—everything. With him being a Death Eater, she understood why he wasn't aloud to tell her things. But he had even kept his membership of the private group from her. He hadn't trusted her enough to tell her of any of his plans. He had even used Crabbe and Goyle over her for his schemes. She shook her head dejectedly.

_Where are you Draco_? She had heard many rumors—he had been seen in Russia, Australia, Greece, he had been captured and put in Azkaban, he was dead. But the rumors were just that. She didn't know what to think anymore. Potter had been spot on with his guess. She wanted to leave Hogwarts because of Draco. She couldn't take it any longer. Being at school without him was a nightmare. She became angry when members of her house sat in his favorite seat. And Blaise wasn't fun anymore. Every night she fell asleep wondering where Draco was. She hoped that if she went home, he would be on her mind less often. Less reminders.

Something else on her nightstand caught her attention. Her Head Girl badge gleamed brightly from the light of the burning candle. She had been pleasantly surprised when she had received it a few months ago. Then she had arrived at school to find Granger gone. _Of course_. _They wouldn't have picked me otherwise._ For once, as Pansy fell asleep, the last thing on her mind wasn't Draco Malfoy, but whether McGonagall would try and strip her of her position because of her outburst.

* * *

Harry walked into the warm Gryffindor common room. There were only a few people still there, Ron being one of them. Looking up from his school work, Ron gave him a silent nod.

Since the beginning of the year, Ron had become a bit more involved in his school work. Harry supposed he may have realized that without Hermione, passing was impossible. He'd never be as naturally intelligent as Hermione. His work was still mediocre. But he put forth the effort. Maybe even a bit obsessively, like he was trying to fill a void…

"Where've you been?" he asked as he finished writing his essay.

"Out. I took a walk." Ron nodded as he began to roll up his work. Harry climbed the boy's staircase up to the seventh year boy's dormitories. The room was completely dark, except for a sliver of moonlight that had managed to evade the heavy curtain. He tiptoed over to his bed, trying not to wake Neville and Dean. He slipped off his clothes and glasses and climbed into bed in his boxers. Rolling onto his side, he listened to the light buzzing that was his friends' snoring. A few moments later, he heard Ron enter and climb into his own bed. When he was sure he was asleep, he rolled onto his back and let out a sigh.

He smirked to himself as he remembered Pansy's reaction as he kissed her. Everything was still vivid in his mind. He remembered how his entire face was numb with cold, except for his lips, which seemed to burn as he pressed them onto hers. He remembered how everything had gone by so fast and so slow at the same time.

He wasn't sure why he had done it. Something within him had collapsed. Perhaps his control, maybe his rationality. Whatever, it had felt natural. More than it should have. Perhaps he could look at it as his goodbye to her. Though, he realized, he'd never truly said hello to begin with. Harry's lips thinned as he wondered how he compared to Malfoy. His face scrunched in disgust as he tried to shake the thought from his head. Was he jealous of _Malfoy_?

* * *

The Great Hall hummed with the sound of merry chatter as breakfast started. The ceiling mirrored the clear, blue skies outside. The warm, bright sunshine filtering through the windows glittered off the silverware. The Gryffindor table erupted in laughter as Neville spit out the sausage he had just been choking on. Though tears were still streaming down his face, he couldn't help but join in the laughter as well. Everyone appeared to be in good humor. Harry looked over at Ron who was smiling as he skimmed through his book.

"You know, we eat at this table. You could try and do the same." Harry's comment was met with a grunt from somewhere beneath Ron's mop of ginger hair. Harry rolled his eyes and stabbed at the astounding scent that was his breakfast. He pushed a morsel of sausage into his mouth and chewed it slowly, allowing the juices to ravish his mouth with its near sweetness. He sat back in his chair as he chewed, his eyes narrowing with thought. _So Pansy's gone_, he thought as he frowned. And then, quite suddenly, he began to choke.

Ron reacted first, reaching across the table and giving Harry's back a firm slap. Harry coughed up the bit of sausage and was faced with the familiar laughter of the Gryffindors.

"You know, mate, it's easier to swallow if you chew it." Ron grinned at his red-faced friend and returned to his book before he could retort. Harry's face was indeed red, but it was from neither choking on the food nor the laughing classmates. Harry looked past Ron again, trying to convince his mind that he hadn't seen what he thought he had seen. But the sunshine was so bright and lit the hall so well, it was impossible for it to have been a trick of the light.

Pansy looked up from her food and locked eyes with him momentarily, causing his abdomen to churn nervously. _So Pansy's not gone_. There she was, clear as day, that bright sunlight glinting off her glossy hair and lighting up her blue eyes. He was mesmerized and anxious at the same time. If he had known she would definitely stay, he wouldn't have been so bold the night before. He felt a bit embarrassed, wondering whether she had told anyone about it. No. She had no friends.

He also felt a little pleased that she was still here, and that frustrated him. He shouldn't be finding pleasure in that. He should be indifferent, maybe even annoyed. He forced the overwhelming thoughts down and watched her as she stood and exited the hall.

"Er—I've forgotten my Potions book. Don't wait for me." Ron looked up from his book and eyed him suspiciously, but Harry was nearly halfway to the door now and hadn't noticed. Ron shook his head and leaned towards his sister, who was finishing a conversation with Neville.

"He's fucking insane," he muttered to her. Ginny smirked.

"Why do you say that?"

"He doesn't even have Potions today," Ron said a bit louder than expected, acquiring a few curious glances. "It's Saturday."

Harry walked briskly through the much darker, much cooler Entrance Hall, trying to catch up to Pansy, who was mounting the stairs. As though she had known he was about to approach her, she stopped and clenched her fists. Harry climbed the stairs slowly as Pansy turned around, looking irritated and a bit uncomfortable.

"I thought you were leaving." Harry realized she had taken it in the wrong way when her fists tightened, turning her knuckles white.

"I changed my mind," she said monotonously before turning and continuing up the stairs. Harry couldn't shake the grin plastered on his face. He caught up with her and began walking alongside her.

"You changed your mind, eh?" Pansy stopped and looked up at Harry, shaking her head.

"Stop being so fucking bigheaded, Potter," she spat, tired of her mock-courteous behavior. "I didn't want to see my badge handed to that twat Fawcett." Harry watched her in surprise as she flipped her hair in impertinence and stalked up the stairs determinedly.

* * *

Review? Cool. Thanks!

Lana


	4. Chapter 4

Warning: Adult language and themes present in this chapter!

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any of the other copyrighted characters. Credit must be given to J.K. Rowling.

* * *

Him

Chapter 4

Pansy sat in the stiff, high backed chair, staring down at the old, wooden desk as the rosy-cheeked woman chastised her. When Dumbledore had died, everyone had assumed that McGonagall would become Headmistress. Minister Scrimgoeur's paranoia had gotten the best of him, though. He had felt it safer if he personally installed someone from the ministry—_someone he could trust_, he had commented to the Daily Prophet.

There had been a brief uproar amongst McGonagall's supporters, but it had died down quickly. The minister had made his decision, and to his pleasant surprise, there had been no protest from McGonagall or her close friends. Little did he know, the lack of objection had been because the Order really _was_ pleased with his decision. For weeks they had been trying to find a way to slip another Order member into Hogwarts without rousing suspicion. They already had many Order members guarding the school for Auror duty, but they wanted people on the inside.

They didn't have to try hard—the minister had placed Hestia Jones, an Order member, right in the palm of their hand. Pansy knew none of this, though. The new Headmistress was more of an annoyance.

"It's best we show respect to our professors, Miss Parkinson. You, being Head Girl, should know that. I hope it doesn't happen again," the woman said in a cheery voice. Pansy contemplated rolling her eyes. The incident had been a week ago. Instead, she nodded lazily. The Headmistress stood and came around the desk.

"Well, it's late. Off to bed, deary." Pansy rose and was escorted to the door by the petite woman. As she descended the staircase, she shook her head and shuddered.

"Someone gag me, please." Pansy pulled her slipping bag onto her shoulder as she walked down the dark, abandoned halls. Something about the Headmistress bothered her to the point of insanity. Perhaps it was the way she was always smiling, even when you were being punished. Pansy couldn't stand people who were cheery for no reason, prancing around, singing about love and all that shit.

The soft clicking of her shoes stilled when she came to her portrait. She muttered her password and was met with a small gust of warm air, frantically escaping the confines of the common room. The only light in the room came from the dying embers in the fire place so Pansy began to feel her way through the darkness. She had nearly made it to her door when she heard a rustling to her right. Freezing, she squinted towards the couch and fireplace. Guardedly, she inched her hand towards her wand and gripped it tightly.

"Pansy?" She jumped at the sound, but slowly relinquished her hold on her wand when she recognized Michael Corner's voice. Though he was Head Boy, they rarely spoke to one another except when mandatory. Pansy assumed she had made Head Girl because of her leadership skills; she knew her academics hadn't convinced anyone. As for Michael…she had yet to find what qualities had landed him the Head Boy position. She had thought they would have chosen Weasley. She supposed she was glad they didn't.

There was a roar from the fire place as Michael relit it with his wand. Now Pansy could clearly see Michael's dark hair peaking over the back of the couch as he sat up.

"Hello, Michael," she said, trying to behave civilly as he watched her from his seat. She walked over to the couch he was sitting on and set her bag down next to it, relieved to be rid of the extra weight. Pansy shook her head inwardly when she noticed Michael's blank stare. Heaving a sigh, she set off towards her bedroom.

"Pansy?" Michael asked again, causing her to stop in her tracks. Growing more aggravated, Pansy turned towards him, setting a hand on her hip as she waited for him to continue. He raked a hand through his messy hair as he pushed himself off the couch, the firelight behind him casting eerie shadows. Pansy remained silent as Michael's heavy footsteps thumped against the wooden floor. He stopped a few feet in front of her.

"I've heard rumors," he said playfully, taking a step closer to her. Pansy narrowed her eyes before smirking in curiosity.

"Oh?" She crossed her arms in contempt and lifted an eyebrow. She had never gotten along well with Michael, but he'd always given her a good laugh from the things that left his mouth.

"I have ten galleons. We can use my room," he said huskily, taking hold of her upper arm. Pansy clenched her fists. She hadn't been expecting that.

"That had better have been one of your fucking jokes, Corner," she said as she withdrew her wand. "Otherwise, I'll hex you." She jabbed her wand at the area between his legs and grinned at his startled expression. Before she knew what was happening, though, he had whacked her wand away and pulled her firmly against him. He tried to force his mouth to hers, but she struggled against his hold and managed to squirm out of his arms. Heart beating wildly, she knelt down and searched blindly under a desk for her wand.

"What the fuck's wrong with you, Michael?" she asked as he made his way over to her, hoping she could distract him long enough to get her wand. She could feel it, there, at the tip of her fingers.

"I need you, Pansy. I can't explain it." With difficulty, Pansy pushed her arm further under the desk, trying to wrap her fingers around her evasive wand. She felt Michael's strong arms snake around her waist. She bit down on her tongue as he tugged her up, crushing her arm against the desk before she was able to release it from the crevice. She writhed frantically against him as he dragged her into his darkened room.

"Put me down, Michael! Stop!" she yelled furiously as his grip around her tightened. He grunted as he threw her on his bed. Pansy quickly rolled to the other side, nearly making it off. He was quicker, though, grabbing her skirt and pulling her back towards him. She was no longer irate with him—she was terrified. This was Michael Corner—Ravenclaw equivalent of Ronald Weasley: obsessed with quidditch, a bit pompous, heart of gold. He wouldn't—

He was on top of her now, pinning her down with his weight. She thrashed about, trying to get free. But it was too much, he was too much. Pansy screamed like a banshee when she felt his fingers begin to creep up her legs. She stretched her neck forward as far as she could and managed to sink her teeth into his neck. Gasping, he pulled back in surprise before fervently returning the bite. The harder she writhed, the more exhausted she became. Even her screaming was growing quieter now. She couldn't see him anymore—her eyes were too blurred with tears.

Her arms were pinned over her head by Michael's right hand; she could hear the metal of his buckle rattling as he struggled to undo it with his left. Then she heard his zipper. She was completely still now, breathing hard from her struggle. He was breathing harder—a mix of the fight and his own excitement. He unpinned her arms and reached down to pull her skirt up. She could feel his rough hands rubbing her thighs. The tears were streaming down the sides of her face. He was tugging at her panties now. Pansy felt her heart speed up again, and with one final effort, she pushed her hands against his chest and wriggled her leg free. She kicked him—kicked him so hard he was gasping for breath. She blinked her tears away, clambered off the bed, and ran from his room.

The common room air was suffocating her. It was too hot. How was she supposed to breathe? She took faster breaths, but it seemed the more she tried to breathe the less air she was actually receiving. Frantically, she rushed out of the common room, into the cold, dark corridor.

"Are you okay?" She looked up, relieved. Harry placed a comforting hand on her shoulder and watched her worriedly.

"I—I can't breathe!" Her chest rose and fell quickly. Harry frowned and instructed her to hold her arms over her head. She complied, and he rubbed her back reassuringly as they slowly walked down the corridor and into a small alcove.

"Okay," he said softly as she regained her composure. "What happened?" Pansy slowly dropped her arms and frowned. Her face was still red from tears. She sniffled, and, surprising herself, wrapped her arms around him and set her head on his chest. Harry returned the hug, rubbing her back again.

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you," she croaked, forcing down tears that so desperately wanted to be let free. Harry remained silent. She didn't care—she needed to touch him now, that was all.

"Could I stay with you tonight?" she asked softly into his chest as she squeezed her eyes shut. She had recently made it clear to him that they were in no way friends—she hoped that he had forgotten.

"Sure."

Pansy slowly opened her red rimmed eyes and looked up from her spot on the alcove floor. Harry was gone—had never been there in the first place, actually. In her hysteria she had only imagined he was there—imagined that Harry was hugging her, caring for her. Because that was what she needed.

In fact, Harry was in his dormitory, clutching a bottle of Firewhiskey as he recounted to his equally smashed dorm mates how Michael Corner had walked stiffly down the corridors and to his chambers after they had slipped a strong lust potion in his pumpkin juice.

* * *

The numbness in her fingers and toes was what woke her. She had fallen asleep there, on the frozen alcove floor. She squinted through her sleepy eyes at the windows above her. It was still dark. She estimated from the cold it was probably three in the morning. With fatigue, she uncurled herself, forced herself up, and shuffled towards her common room.

Biting her lip, Pansy stared timidly at the portrait to her common room like it was a task in the Triwizard Tournament. She was too afraid to go back in, but she wouldn't admit that to herself. She needed her wand—she was going to hex Corner so hard.

Pansy stood glaring at the portrait for ten minutes. The picture was of a mute woman in a very large, Renaissance era dress. The woman glared back at Pansy and held her head pompously. Pansy rolled her eyes and gave the portrait an angry kick before grumbling the password. The portrait swung open fast, smacking her in the head.

From what she could see from the dying embers, the room was abandoned. Despite that, though, Pansy remained as silent as possible as she crept about the common room. Incase Corner was lurking in the shadows somewhere, he wouldn't hear her. Of course, she realized, that didn't mean he wouldn't be able to see her.

On one of the walls stood Corner's broomstick, hastily set aside after one of his team practices. Pansy gripped the end of the broom tightly in her hand as she knelt down and crawled over to the desk she had been attacked at. She could feel her heart begin to pound harder as she pressed herself flat on the ground, remembering how Corner's arms had wrapped themselves around her. She pushed the broom under the desk and moved it from side to side until she heard her wooden wand roll out from underneath. She gripped it tightly in her hand and grinned. Now she would set fire to Corner's bed. She yawned. _Tomorrow_.

* * *

Pansy glared at Michael's empty bed. He had left–fled—before she had awoken. From his window she could see dark clouds begin to swirl angrily in the sky, threatening heavy rain and ice. Another frozen day; she shivered. It was cold enough as it is.

Her attention returned to the empty bed, still messy from a night of sleep. _At least someone slept well_, she thought as she transfigured one of his knick-knacks into a dagger. She crawled onto his bed and began savagely gutting his feather-down pillows, taking care to completely empty their contents into the rest of the room. She then moved on to his sheets. She whistled as she worked, finding joy in destroying. Then his duvet and bed drapes. She had wanted to set fire to them, but had decided against it. She didn't want to deal with the smoke stench. Finally, his clothes. Pansy stood in his doorway and grinned at her handiwork. That would be enough to teach him a lesson, though she had hoped to physically hurt him. She dropped the dagger on the ground and transfigured it back before walking from the room smugly.

The cold wind stung her eyes, but she didn't care. The quidditch pitch was completely empty, one of the few places in the whole fucking school that was. The dark clouds had grown heavier with precipitation and she could hear thunder many miles away. She closed her watering eyes and set her head on the frozen bench behind her.

She was starting to wonder why she had stayed. Her parents hadn't been expecting her, but they would no doubt have been overjoyed if she had come home. They really hadn't wanted her to come back this year anyway.

It was because of him. She hadn't wanted to give him the satisfaction of knowing, but it was true. Potter had wanted her to stay, so she had. She wasn't sure what she was accomplishing by being here. She never knew what to do with people she was…fond of, if fondness was even what she felt for Potter. She usually just ignored them. She had ignored Draco when she had started to like him, and soon after they were dating. She hadn't spoken to Potter in a week.

"Potter," she muttered miserably to herself.

"What?" Her eyes snapped open and she sat up straight in her seat. There was no one there. A tap on her shoulder, and she turned around to find green eyes flickering with amusement. She felt her brow strain as she began to scowl at Harry, who had taken a seat on the bench she had just been resting her head on. He had his broom clutched tightly in his left hand and was now staring impassively at the darkening sky. She smiled inwardly when she noticed the purple around his eye; someone had hit him.

Pansy shook her head slowly. "Nothing." He shifted his attention back to her. She had felt suddenly uncomfortable under his gaze. It was like he was trying to read her mind, or something. After several minutes of silence Harry leaned forward and gently set his hand on her shoulder. Pansy looked up into his eyes. He had that look again—the guilty look. Pansy cringed when she heard him exhale in defeat.

"Look." He removed his glasses and showed her his bruised eye. She nodded and felt her frown deepen. Not because she felt bad, but because of the explanation she knew was coming. _Continue_.

His finger lightly outlined his eye. "Michael Corner paid me a visit this morning." He was taken aback when she stood up abruptly and leaned into him. She set her left hand on his knee as the fingers of her right lingered over his bruise. Now she was upset.

"I'm sorry." It had slipped out. She didn't know why she was reacting this way.

"Stop," he said as he pulled her hand away uncomfortably. "It was about you." He stood up and watched as her gaze on his wavered and slowly turned to the ground. Her dark hair fell around her face as she glared down, but she didn't care. Her arms were motionless at her sides. Harry mimicked her posture, his broom forgotten on the bench behind him and his hands tucked deeply in his robe pockets. They stood close together—nearly touching—but Pansy could feel the distance growing exponentially.

"What did you talk about," she asked meekly, lifting her head to gaze at him. She wondered if she looked blurry to him; his glasses were on the bench. Their lips were so close, but neither had kissing on the mind. Her left arm left her side and tightly grabbed Harry's school robe. They were close enough that he _could_ see the anger in her face—her blue eyes were flashing, she was clenching her jaw, her cheeks were reddening.

He could smell it now—the rain would be here soon. "He said he'd done something—something he knew he would never have done." He could hear the straining in his own voice as he remembered Michael's miserable account of the night before. She tightened her grip on his robe.

"And why did he do what he did?" He averted his eyes at this question. A single, frozen rain drop landed on his cheek, biting into his flesh as it rolled off onto Pansy's cheek. She wiped it away.

"Last night…I slipped him a lust potion." He felt the grip on his robe release. He lowered his head to see her reaction, only to have his eye—the other eye—connect with Pansy's fist. Harry lurched backward and fell over one of the stadium benches, gripping his tender eye and watching the blur that was Pansy walk out of the stadium. The icy rain was falling heavily now.

* * *

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	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any of the other copyrighted characters. Credit must be given to J.K. Rowling.

* * *

Him

Chapter 5

He had made feeble attempts at apology the entire week, but she always managed to ignore him or slip away. He could only imagine what had happened between her and Michael that night. He was betting it wasn't friendly petting. She was still furious; it must have been bad. But it had only been a joke, an idea given to the Gryffindor seventh years by the Weasley twins, who had tried the same thing to Lee Jordan when they were seventh years. He should have known—everything he did ended in disaster.

Harry squeezed his eyes tight and shifted back onto the two legs of the chair. The common room was empty besides himself. He frowned and glanced at the ceiling. Every single inch of the room was snug with red and gold except the ceiling. The bare, cold stone remained scornfully hidden in shadow as the rest of the room gleamed up at it.

"You think you're above Gryffindors but you're not. You're coldness is repulsive." He was speaking up to the ceiling but not at it. _Do I really think that_? He shook the thought from his mind. _Of course not._

Harry's mouth opened a fraction as he contemplated his feelings for Pansy. It had been a week ago that he had stopped denying to himself that he liked Pansy. Michael corner had approached Harry in an abandoned corridor the morning after he had slipped him the lust potion. By the anger in his face, Harry knew Michael had figured out what he had done. Harry had apologized before Michael even opened his mouth, but he had not accepted it. _Apologize to Pansy_, he had told him.

Then Michael had recounted how he had nearly fucked her—against her will—when she had entered their common room. Michael had become rough with him; they had scuffled before running off at the sound of footsteps. Harry had nearly vomited. Not because of the blow he had received from Michael, but because of the extreme guilt that was poisoning him. He couldn't deny it any longer—his feelings for Pansy were rooted deeper than he imagined.

Harry took a deep breath. But a fancy could be stifled, suffocated. He'd done it before; with his crush on Hermione, Cho, and Fleur. After they had stopped dating, he had even convinced himself to stop fancying Ginny.

It was painfully obvious that Pansy now despised him. He didn't want to try and pursue anything with anyone who felt nothing, or worse, hatred, towards him. And hadn't he told Ginny that it wouldn't be safe for them to see each other? What difference was there between him and Pansy? Being a Slytherin didn't give her immunities.

And he didn't want to make a fool of himself, if she rejected him. He hated rejection. Besides, Pansy was very self-absorbed. And she could get annoying after a while. Even if she did decide to date him—which he found impossible—she would no doubt grow tired of him and leave him after two weeks, at most. She was one of _those_ people. _Use '__em__ and lose '__em_ Harry sat forward convinced. She would be easy to forget. He snapped his fingers. _There_. _Forgotten_, he thought as he painfully stifled his overwhelming feelings.

* * *

Several flights below, Pansy sat in her high backed chair staring into the fire. Though Michael had apologized and even left her flowers, they had not spoken for a week since the incident. Neither could have cared less, though. The two had no interest in speaking to one another unless absolutely necessary. Michael felt extremely uncomfortable around her and she felt very nervous around him.

She set her head in her hand as she watched the snow fall behind the frosty window. Despite the crackling fire, it felt as frozen in the common room as it looked outside. It didn't bother her though. Her thoughts were focused elsewhere.

Pansy's hair was set in a messy bun, and therefore unable to hide her watering eyes. She pushed the tears away in frustration with the back of her other hand and continued to watch the snow fall. _A week_. A week since she'd spoken to Harry, since she had punched him and ran from the stadium. The moment her fist had connected with his eye, she had felt the satisfaction flowing through her veins like a drug, consuming her. She had wanted to see him in pain. She had wanted him to suffer.

She had taken the stadium stairs two at a time, and as she reached the bottom she had stopped. There had been a guilty straining in her chest that she had tried to ignore. She had glanced back up the staircase and choked on a sob. She had run up the steps, desperately wanting to be at Harry's side and apologizing for what she had done. She hadn't, though. She had lost her courage and headed back to the castle. She had nearly gone back—had nearly returned to him. Pansy wiped away another tear.

_Stop. You're acting like an idiot. It's just stupid Potter._ She forced her tears to dry as she straightened in her seat. He had tried talking to her in class, but she hadn't wanted to speak to him in public for fear of the subject. She had no interest of her classmates finding out about Michael.

He had also approached her many times in the halls, the idiot. That was no more private than the classroom, so she would try and lead him to a more discreet area. Any other man would have followed her, but not him. She wondered if he had stopped caring. Perhaps he was tired of chasing her around. She supposed she couldn't blame him. She had heard enough of the Gryffindor whispering gallery to know what they thought about her. Narcissist. Snob. Bitch. _Fuck them_.

Pansy glared at the falling snow. _This is stupid. Stop moping, Pansy. What would Draco say?_ Pansy's frown deepened at the thought. Probably_, cheer up, love_. Pansy stood up in frustration and eyed her cloak on a hook at the back of the room. She gave one last hesitant glance towards the crackling fire before making her way over to the hook and pulling on her heavy cloak.

Shoving her wand in her pocket, she pushed open her portrait and trekked down the familiar dark halls. As she walked, she watched the crescent moon as she passed frosted windows on her way. Draco had a similar shaped scar on his arm, from when that barbaric giant's beast attacked him.

She subconsciously huffed as she came to a stop in front of the Gryffindor portrait. She grinned to herself as she smacked the portrait awake. The fat lady blinked a few times before staring down and frowning in disapproval.

"Child out of bed!" The Fat Lady folded her arms and turned her nose up.

"I'm not a bloody child," Pansy said, agonizingly trying to keep her language in check. The Fat Lady looked down her nose at her before lifting an eyebrow.

"Wait…you're not a Gryffindor. Leave!" The Fat Lady turned her head to the side, refusing to look at Pansy.

"Not very polite are you. _Charisma_." The Fat Lady's jaw dropped in surprise before swinging open to reveal the Gryffindor common room.

"Typical," she whispered to herself as she walked carefully into the red room. "The Gryffindors _would_ have a nice little password like that. I bet they change it with the seasons, too. _Unicorns.__Pudding.__Puppies.__Friendship_. Disgusting." She stopped talking to herself as she stood in the middle of the dimmed common room. It was completely empty. There were a few depressions on a couch where someone had clearly been sitting not too long ago, but besides that, no sign of life. Pansy bit her lip nervously as she looked towards the two identical staircases at the back. She could feel her fingers twitch nervously at her side.

Perhaps the cold of her own common room had numbed her mind, because now that she was standing in the warmth of the Gryffindors' den, she couldn't explain to herself why she had come. For a moment she told herself she had wanted to hurt Potter. In the next moment she felt quite the opposite. Feeling wretched, she took a step back before turning to leave.

"Whose there?" _Shit_. Nothing pulled you out of surrealism like intrusion. Pansy paused and took a deep breath before putting on an angry scowl and turning around. Pansy was a Slytherin and therefore fantastic at hiding her emotions. But since Potter had entangled himself in her life, everything that defined her Slytherin had gone to shit. That's why she was so surprised she hadn't flinched the moment she saw him, dressed in black pajama bottoms and a thin white cotton shirt, hair slightly damp from his shower. Pansy forced all the anxiety from her voice before speaking.

"I was just leaving, actually." She motioned towards the portrait behind her as she reminded herself to stand straight and lift her head in defiance. Harry descended the last few steps and took a few strides towards her, hands in pajama pockets.

"Why did you come here?" His voice had really changed over the years, from its original annoying squeakiness to one that was deep and soothing; but the way he had asked her this was anything but soothing. She realized she was no longer glowering but frowning with distress as she racked her mind for a plausible answer. Nothing.

"I—" She wrapped her hands tightly around her robe sleeves to keep them from fidgeting. Looking up, she noticed the stone ceiling high above in the shadows. She wished she could be up there, the ceiling wrapped snugly around her, keeping her from Potter's piercing gaze. "I don't know," she managed to get out. She watched as Harry removed his glasses to rub his eyes. He still had traces of the bruises. Something tugged at the back of her throat. Hesitantly, breathily, she said, "I wanted to see you, I guess." Harry's hands froze mid-rub and Pansy was fast regretting her words.

"Why?" he asked with a strain behind his voice as he slipped his glasses back on to get a better look at her.

"Why what?" she asked slowly, trying to feign stupidity. She was taking small steps back towards the portrait, desperate to escape. Harry gave her a skeptical look.

"Why did you want to see me?" His response was so nonchalant, like he hadn't a care in the world. Like she had come to inquire about a charms assignment. But that was far from what he was really thinking. Harry's heart was pounding wildly inside his chest, as though the organ itself was trying to break free and confess its undying love for the woman in front of him. The thought disturbed him and he quickly pushed it to the back of his mind.

He couldn't believe she was here, though. Only half an hour before he had believed he had permanently rid himself of all feelings towards her. And yet, he could feel his hands beginning to moisten. Perhaps killing feelings was more difficult than he anticipated. He clenched his jaw and tried to force himself to stop—stop the rapidness of his heart, the moistness of his hands, the quickness of his breaths. _Forget her! She's just another __Slytherin__. She's a dirty whore._ No matter how loud he screamed this in his head, he couldn't stop himself from noticing how upset she looked, how her hands were shaking despite how tightly she had twisted her sleeves around them, how there was a trace of a blush on her cheeks, how she was slowly trying to escape him.

"Maybe I shouldn't have come." Harry watched as she reached behind her, feeling for the wall. It was about a meter away. Slowly, Harry closed the distance between them. Pansy turned her head to the side and stared at the wall as he lowered his head to hers. His drying hair fell into his face, causing Pansy's eyes to flit to his briefly.

She wanted to push the hair away from his face, but she also wanted to run. She kept her hands at her sides and continued to move backwards. Finally, Pansy felt her hand connect with the soft back of the portrait, just as Harry lifted his hand and ran it along her neck. Her eyes fluttered shut as she let out a small breath.

Harry traced his fingers over Pansy's jaw, moving up to cup her face in his hand. He ran his thumb down her soft skin and rested his fingers over her mouth. He could feel her shallow breath, there, at the tip of his fingers. _Slytherin_. Harry retracted his hand as though he'd been shocked.

"Maybe you're right," Harry said harshly. Pansy's eyes snapped open, and in a moment of clarity she pushed against the portrait behind her and was able to escape. Harry leaned over the portrait hole and lowered his head. He could smell her perfume lingering on the back of the portrait.

"Shit," he muttered to himself as he pushed the portrait open hastily and exited the common room with bare feet. She was already making her way down the nearby staircase and he had to skip steps to catch up to her. Her cheeks were very pink and her lips were pursed like McGonagall's. Her bun bounced with every step, threatening to release the contents of the elastic hair band. The stone steps held her attention; she never once glanced over to Harry.

"Pansy," Harry held her elbow to stop her descent, but she furiously yanked it from his grip.

"Don't touch me!" she shouted at him, giving him a nasty look. _At least she's looking at me_, he thought. He grabbed her wrist and motioned her to lower her voice. Harry looked back up the staircase, hoping Filch hadn't heard them. Pansy wrenched her wrist from his grip and shoved him. He regained his balance and followed her down the rest of the steps.

"Stop being a bitch," he said quietly into her ear. Pansy froze and gave Harry a shocked look.

"How dare you," she exclaimed as softly as she could. "You were the one being the prat before I left." Pansy clenched her teeth together to prevent herself from shouting. She would have to clench harder for Harry was feeling particularly rude that moment.

"Yeah, that was one instance. You're always a bitch, though." Pansy had continued walking, turning right and then left, trying to lose Harry. But he had followed her closely, wanting to finish offending her. "So when I say stop being a bitch, I mean in general. You know, I bet Malfoy joined the Death Eaters to get away from you. I know I would." He could hear the own venom in his voice, but he couldn't stop. He felt a bit out of control and childish. He just wanted to see what would happen.

Pansy spotted her portrait ahead, and sped up, wanting to escape Harry's battering words. She muttered her password and the portrait flew open. Unfortunately, as she turned to shut the portrait, she was met with Potter's angry face. Well, it _had been_ angry. Now it was surprised.

"Hey, why are you crying?" he said this softly as he advanced further into the room, forcing Pansy to take a few steps back. She scowled at Harry's stupidity. He reacted as though it hadn't been him who had been verbally attacking her.

"I'm not crying." She sniffled and turned her back to him. The fire was just burning out.

"Why are your eyes leaking, then?" He placed a hand on her shoulder but she jerked it away. Slowly, she made her way to her chamber doors, squeezing the doorknob in her hand and pushing it open. Harry followed her and set his hand on the door when she tried to shut it on him.

"Hey—"

"I've missed you, you prat!" She had shouted this, and for a second it was the only sound as it echoed off the ceiling. Pansy forced her hand over her gaping mouth, trying to stifle her loud sobbing. She tried to shut the door again, but Harry had pushed it back open, forcing himself into her safe haven.

"If you missed me so much, why have you been ignoring me?" Harry's brows furrowed in frustration at her words and tears.

"W-What? Y-You're c-c-c" Pansy stamped her foot in frustration, unable to speak for her hiccupping sobs. "You're insane," she finally spat out, her chest heaving. Her blue eyes were cast downward as she breathed deeply, trying to catch her breath. The back of Harry's throat ached as he watched her struggle with her breathing. He took a step towards her and set his hand on her back, rubbing her back in lazy circles. Pansy lifted her head and watched as he awkwardly tried to comfort her. She was strongly reminded of her hallucination the week before, and secretly prayed he wouldn't disappear. She set her head on his strong chest and wrapped her weak arms around him, clasping her hands behind his back, refusing to let go.

"Listen," Harry said softly into her hair, "I'm sorry for everything I've done and said." He continued rubbing her back, feeling less awkward the longer he held her, but still unsure what was happening to him.

"Shut up, Harry Potter," she said weakly, her eyes closing tiredly against his chest. Harry tried pulling away, but found she had wrapped herself tightly around him. He sighed heavily as he stared out her window and into the shining moon. Pansy's eyes curved like that when she laughed. He'd glimpsed her truly laughing only once, when Draco had called Hermione a mudblood in second year. He had wanted to beat her with his Nimbus 2000. He hadn't seen her laugh since, only smile, cackle, shriek. He didn't wonder why he remembered this.

"What do you want, Pansy? Just tell me." His question had caught her off-guard, making her feel uncomfortable. She detached her arms from him and pulled her head back.

"I can't," she said as she opened her door for him. Harry frowned as he took a step towards the exit.

"Why?" He asked as he stood in the doorway.

"Because it wouldn't work," she replied forlornly, motioning for him to leave.

"Tell me," he said softly, cupping her cheek in his hand.

"Please leave," she said desperately. Harry nodded slowly and exited her room, walking back into the Head common room. Pansy shut her wooden door and slid down against it. She set her head against the door and looked across to her nightstand, where Draco's portrait had been glowering since Harry's appearance.

_Thump. _A single knock on her door.

"Yes?" she said, glaring at the upside down image of her wooden door.

"Pansy?" It was Harry. He sounded confused. Pansy pulled her head forward and pushed herself off the floor.

"Yes?" She could see his shadow under the door. She ran her hand along the smooth wood of the door, knowing he was directly behind it.

"I want to be with you." Her breathing stilled as she processed what he'd said. Pansy stared at the door, her mouth opened a fraction, disbelieving. And before she could think too much about the rationality of her actions, she grabbed the brass door knob and pulled the door open. There he was, standing in her doorway in his pajamas, staring desperately at her, his left hand gripping the frame. And then he wasn't. He wasn't in the doorway.

He was holding her tight, his cheek on her head. Pansy could feel her heart pounding in her chest—could hear Harry's beating just as wild in his. Harry's fingers brushed against her neck and she closed her eyes as a deep shiver traveled down her body. This was so wrong. Draco. Harry lowered his head. Draco-Draco-Draco—Draco…was gone. Pansy closed her eyes as Harry pressed his lips to hers.

Her breathing grew shallow as Harry moved to her jaw, her neck, her shoulder. He murmured something incoherent into her neck. Pansy pulled back a fraction.

"My glasses," he said into her burning skin again, his shaking hands tugging at her school sweater. His breathing was hard as she pulled his askew glasses off and threw them to the side. She pressed her lips to the eyelid Michael had hit. She felt Harry's hands pulling the sweater up—slowly. She pulled away and pressed her lips against the eyelid she had hit, her lips lingering longer before moving back to his mouth. Harry gave her a small smile as he pulled her sweater over her head.

Their lips met again in a deeper kiss. Pansy reached up and touched his face. Real. And he was here with her. She could feel his fingers working at the buttons of her blouse.

Harry's brow furrowed as he kissed her. He couldn't get enough of her. With every kiss he wanted another and another, and he knew he would die kissing her, because he knew he wouldn't ever be able to stop. He wanted to cover every surface of her body with his lips. He wanted to make her a blanket of Harry kisses. He smiled against Pansy's mouth and inwardly shook his head.

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Review? Al


	6. Chapter 6

Warning: Adult language and themes present in this chapter!

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any of the other copyrighted characters. Credit must be given to J.K. Rowling.

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Him

Chapter 6

"Move, you stupid whore." Harry bit the inside of his cheek the instant he had let it slip. He definitely wasn't acting himself lately. He shook his head. Maybe he was. What you say is who you are, right? So his words reflected upon his character…or was it 'You were what you ate?' He forced the Hermionesque voice from his head.

Regardless, Pansy was seething with anger as she walked hurriedly down the busy corridor and out of sight. He knew it wasn't her fault she had been blocking the door. The boy in front of her had dropped his charms homework everywhere. But he had needed to say something to her—anything. He didn't know he was going to say what he had, though. And why hadn't she shouted back? That made him look like an arse. Ron agreed—

"Arsehole," he hissed into Harry's ear as they began to push their way into the bustling crowd heading to lunch. Ron gripped Harry's shoulder and shook his head in bewilderment. The action irritated Harry. He wanted to shrug his shoulder away, but he knew it would be pointless to do so. Ron would probably make a deal out of that as well.

"What's going on with you Harry?" Ron asked loudly over the crowd. "You've been a serious prick these past few days." They pulled themselves away from the crowd as they turned right into a much quieter corridor.

"Thanks, Ron." Harry ran a hand through his hair exhaustedly as they pushed aside a tapestry and began making their way down a hidden staircase.

"I'm just being honest, mate. If you're trying to get her attention, best to try a new method. She's just ignoring you now, isn't she?" Harry shook his head furiously and Ron gave him an incredulous look. Harry heard Ron pause behind him as they descended. "Well it looks like she's ignoring you to me." Harry clenched his teeth together in annoyance.

"No, Ron," he started with a deadly calm voice. "I'm not trying to get her attention." _Maybe a little._ Ron took a breath but shut his mouth again. What was with the pauses? They turned right into a darkened corridor. Just say what you want to effing say.

"No, didn't think you were." He noticed Ron trying to make eye contact but he refused to look at him. Ron gave up his fruitless attempt and continued forward. "Whatever you're doing, though, she's making you look like a mighty prick." Ron's calm tone was a sharp contrast to how Harry was feeling. He wasn't going to snap at his friend, he repeated to himself. They emerged in the Entrance Hall ahead of the lunch crowd.

"Ron, I don't go out of my way to be a fucking twat." Harry came to an abrupt halt in front of the Great Hall doors. He turned around and faced his friend's stunned face. Ron was a few inches taller than Harry. Right now more than ever Harry was resenting him for that. "It just happens." With a grunt, Harry shoved the doors open and strode heatedly to the table, Ron at his heels.

Harry hated his best friend with every fiber of his body, but he knew he would feel differently once he could calm himself down. But he could still feel the anger buzzing through him, throbbing his fingers. It took so much of his will power not to strike his ginger-haired friend. Because he was right. He was absolutely fucking right. It was too much. He was too much. The way he had been reacting around her the past few days was making him look like the bad guy. But what was he supposed to do? How was he supposed to act? He didn't know. Not when he was feeling this way…Harry dropped his heavy bag onto the table and he glanced across the room.

"Listen, Harry," Ron began gently as the Great Hall began to flood with people, "I'm sorry, ok. Just—Just forget about." Ron shoved his bag under the table and took a seat, still looking a bit shocked by Harry's outburst. Harry could feel the anger drain out of him, as though someone had found the stopper and given it a firm tug.

"No." Harry shook his head as he watched the slumped figure at the Slytherin table. "No, Ron. You're right. I'm sorry." Harry took a seat next to his friend. Ron lifted an eyebrow at his sudden change of heart. Harry began to pull a jug of pumpkin juice towards them as their house mates began to settle themselves all around him. As Harry poured himself a drink, he took one last glimpse before his view was obscured by hungry Gryffindors.

Pansy poked her head into the brightly lit hall before pushing herself through the doors and making her way to the Slytherin table. She was the first person there. She had even beaten the staff.

Autumn had brought a cold fury that was equal in intensity to winter. The sunshine filtering through the windows was dull. Despite it, the cold, blue tint of it was still enough to lighten the room and its inhabitant, revealing Pansy's bright eyes. Bright from the tears, there at the rims, which were threatening to spill over. Pansy threw her bag down and collapsed onto the bench, burying her head deep into her folded arms.

_Why_? She asked herself as she tried to blink away the tears. She was head girl!The snap of her fucking fingers and he would have been suffering through a cheerful scolding by the ever jovial Headmistress. She could have shown him who was in charge.

But she had just walked away, like the coward she was—ignored him like she had been doing for the last few days. She never used to be this spineless. She used to be outspoken and impulsive. She cherished the memory of her membership in the Inquisitorial Squad. At least she had been having fun then. It was Potter's fault. Sodding wanker.

Pansy frowned deeper into her arms. She wasn't going to think about him anymore. Potter meant nothing to her. Not after—no. Never. He never meant anything to her—ever.

She could feel the prickling at her eyes again. She groaned in irritation. She wasn't going to cry. Not for him. She wouldn't give him that. It was just—she had been so humiliated. Her cheeks were still burning hot. And everyone had been watching her, waiting for what she would do, what she would say. And the memory of that night had been what forced her to flee. She could remember vividly how her cheeks had flushed from anger. And—fuck. Now she was crying—could feel the stinging tears racing down her cheeks.

But…wasn't she human too? Did pureblood mean she was supposed to be a shell? Maybe, but someone had shoved all the fucking yolk back in. Must have thought it was really funny too. _Merlin, what am I going on about?_ She ignored the sound of opening doors across the hall.

It had hurt so badly. She wasn't talking about the incident that had occurred minutes before, of course. She—

It was the same pain she had felt when she had walked in on her mother with a man—a man that was not her father. A deep, stabbing stinging in her chest that traveled up her throat and controlled her tears. But it was just Potter. She could say it over and over again but it would never sink in. It was just Potter. Potter, who she somehow thought would be different. Because even though she hated it, somewhere along the way she had believed that he really was a hero, a savior. Saviors didn't hurt you, though. They didn't make you cry.

But she had forgotten—hadn't realized that he was just another male. He was just another prick who had hurt her—disappointed her. He had let her down. Because—well…never mind.

* * *

_As Harry undid her last button, it had become too much for her. Pansy could feel her legs shaking, her knees threatening to give out. And Harry must have known it __too,__ or perhaps shared the feeling, because he had pulled away from her mouth and lead her over to her bed. And this was it. __The bed.__ That symbol of rest, relaxation, desire. It was just an ordinary bed, medium with crisp white sheets and a delicate cream cover. __Innocent.__ But the presence of the bed was what drove every last fleeting thought of Draco from her mind. Now it was just her and Harry. And perhaps it was just the sound of their heavy, excited breathing, but all she wanted right then was Him—Harry. _

_Pansy gasped through slightly parted lips when her breasts were released from the confines of her bra—her breasts that had started it all, that day in Transfiguration. His hands had immediately found their way to the swollen flesh. Fuck—his hands cupped her bare skin, stroking, squeezing, kneading. Pansy arched her back, her groan stifled by __Harry's__ mouth._

_Her face was now thoroughly flushed. Pansy admired the way __Harry's__ chest rose and fell with the same intensity as hers. Closing her eyes, she arched her hips and pressed herself firmly against his erection. She smirked to herself at the intake of breath. She also detected a deep moan __surfacing__ somewhere near the back of his throat. _

"_Merlin."__ His right hand was inching up her right thigh and she could feel the atmosphere gro__wing more intense. "Merlin, '__Mio__ne__." His voice was muffled by the skin of her neck, but the name was very distinct; it wasn't hers. Pansy's senses cleared as quickly as if she had just been thrown into the lake. Every burning, desperate inch of her body now felt excruciatingly cold against Harry. She felt more ashamed than she had ever felt before. Pansy narrowed her eyes at him; he appeared not to have noticed. _

"_Fuck you," she said, hurt evident in her voice. Harry met her eyes with confusion as she shoved him away from her. __"Hermione!"__ Harry groaned__ as she moved to the other side of the bed __and sitting up. __He sat on her cream covers, watching her pull her bra back on._

"_Slip of the tongue," he said__ to her back, reaching forward and running his finger down the smooth skin. __"Didn't mean anything."__He watched as she tensed an__d jerked away from his touch. He leaned__ back on his hands and tried to force the aching in his pants to diminish. _

_"It mean__t__ something to me," she snapped, pulling her shirt back on, hands shaking as she fumbled with her buttons. Harry furrowed his brows. "What if I had called you Draco?" she said tersely, turning around with glittering eyes. Harry shrugged._

_"Does it matter? I probably wouldn't have noticed." He brushed it off nonchalantly, still sitting on her covers as she glared back at him. __"I wouldn't! I mean, my aunt used to call me__ by my cousin's name__ all the time. People fumble with their words. It doesn't mean any__thing, really," he rationalized softly. She turned away, hanging her head._

_The moonlight glittered brightly through the windows, illuminating the forced steadiness of her breathing. A section of __Harry's__ hair was plastered to his forehead and hung in his eyes. He pushed it aside in time to glimpse Pansy biting down hard on her bottom lip. __Harry's__ brow furrowed in bewilderment._

"_I don't know who you think you are, Potter, b__ut I tell you who I'm not,__"__ she said in a venomous but calm voice.__ Harry felt a bit alarmed when she turned to face him. The look of fury upon her face was __startling__. "I am not that __mudblood__ Granger." She __spat__ in a col__dly__, standing and making her way to her door. She glanced over her shoulder and found Potter standing, his eyes glittering with anger. Good._

"_You—you—" A thousand and one words echoed through __Harry's__ skull, but he couldn't find the right one. "Whore," he said through his clenched teeth as he made his way towards her. She pulled on the __doorknob and opened the door wide. He stopped opposite her and drew his wand. Pansy's angry expression didn't falter. _

"_Right," she said calmly, her face still flushed, "You didn't__ mind much__ while you were trying to get into my pants." She frowned when he replied with a contemptuous smile. _

"_Accio__ glasses."_

* * *

Harry sat back in his seat during Potions and heaved a sigh of relief. At least he didn't have this class with her. With the help of Ron, Harry realized how much of a prick he had really been. It was a bit unfair for her. He narrowed his eyes a fraction. Well, unfair compared to how she was probably used to being treated. Probably used to being served everything on a silver platter. He was possibly the first rude awakening she's ever had. He was positive that not many else had fed her the truth--people weren't going to put up with her bullshit attitude. Who did she think she was, talking of Hermione like that? He said it was an accident. She couldn't let it go.

Harry shook his head. _Still_, he thought as he copied down the instructions from the board, he felt guilty for his words. He shouldn't have called her a whore…twice. Spoilt brat or not, he was better than that. He could tell by the way she had been slumped on the table in the Great Hall that she had been more than a little bothered by his behavior. He pulled out his cauldron. Lighting a fire, he decided to lay off Pansy. He watched the blue, artificial flame flicker. He wouldn't apologize, though. She had stung him that night... And for different reasons than she thought, than he wanted to admit. Taking a deep breath, he glanced at Hermione's empty seat.

* * *

The last class of the day and Pansy's focus was nowhere to be found. She stared blankly at the DADA teacher. He was saying something, she was sure of it. But he had called Potter up as a volunteer, and now she couldn't concentrate. She watched as the teacher's mouth moved and no sound came out. She turned her head left and glimpsed the Gryffindors listening with rapt attention. She returned her attention forward and crossed her arms in annoyance. The fact that they were listening so attentively bothered her. It bothered her even more than the fact that there were so many bloody Gryffindors taking a N.E.W.T. level D.A.D.A. class.

She could feel her eyes constantly leaving the teacher and resting on _him_. Every time she would make eye contact with him he would avert his eyes or look at some girl batting her ugly eyelashes at him. She uncrossed her arms and sat up, wondering if he was trying to make her angry. _Of course he was._

She closed her eyes momentarily and dropped her head a fraction. She couldn't take it anymore. This afternoon had been the last straw. It was one thing to try and make her feel like shit, it was another to do it in front of people—in front of his friends. It would have stung less if she had had her own companions there to encourage clever comebacks. She groaned inwardly. Weasley had even looked sorry for her. The thought infuriated her and she wondered if she had made a sound because a few of those sodding Gryffindors were looking over at her. She pretended not to notice.

Perhaps this was how karma worked. Her humiliation was payback for all the crap she had given Potter in the past. No. That wasn't even fair. Potter had never cared much about her words, had always just ignored her. And it was better back then, when she could just spit snide comments all day at him and he would just ignore her. Because that was what was normal, that was what was comfortable. She was so furious. She was furious at how Potter had treated her and furious at how confused she felt.

Pansy remembered when she was nine she had told Lavender Brown that she liked Anthony Goldstein. Next day, Lavender kissed him on the mouth. Pansy remembered how she had screamed, stamped her feet with rage, and pulled Lavender's hair until she had ripped a good chunk out. The anger she was now feeling was doubly that of her childhood passion.

Looking up, she locked eyes with Potter, and this time he didn't look away. _I'm sick of this, whatever is going on_. She watched him make his way back to his seat. _I'm done._


	7. Chapter 7

Warning: Adult language and themes present in this chapter!

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any of the other copyrighted characters. Credit must be given to J.K. Rowling.

* * *

Him

Chapter 7

Half past midnight and the Slytherin common room was already abandoned. Not that it was ever crowded these days. In fact, even the sorting ceremony had turned out the fewest Slytherins in decades. Pansy sat in an armchair with her legs sprawled exhaustedly on the coffee table before her. She turned her attention to her classmates composed visage.

"You want in?" Blaise asked and lifted an eyebrow skeptically. He lit a cigarette and inhaled deeply. Pansy eyed the cigarette warily before meeting Blaise's eyes.

"Yes." He stared at her blankly and she watched with anticipation as his eyes glazed with deep thought. He took another drag. To her irritation, he blew the overwhelming smoke towards her. Pansy found herself holding her breath.

"It's against school rules to smoke in here." She looked around the common room. She hadn't been in it for weeks. By the look of it, neither had many Slytherins. There were usually throw pillows lying forgotten on the ground, quills littering the desks and tables, and worn cloaks draped over the backs of couches. It was too clean now.

"You're letting that badge get to your head, Pansy." Blaise sniffed indignantly. "Besides, I think joining would be against a few school rules as well, don't you think?" He gave a cold, empty chuckle as he returned his attention back to his cigarette. With narrowed eyes, he blew another cloud of smoke towards her. She knew he was trying to provoke her, so she didn't react.

"I'll arrange it," he said unenthusiastically. Pansy pulled her feet off the table and sat up straight just as Blaise was stretching back on his couch, cushioning his head with his arms. "I'll talk to someone and tell you when." Pansy, who was frowning, nodded and stood. Blaise continued to stare up at the ceiling as Pansy walked anxiously from the room.

* * *

"_You'll need to travel di__rectly south about 700 __kilometre__s__."_

"_Kilometres_ _Brittany, maybe__?"_

_He ignored her. "There's a forest. Magical. Mind the muggles." Pansy began to grow worried. "You'll have to rely on your intuition from there."_

"_What?" Again, he continued as if not hearing her._

"_There's a tiny village. You'll be drawn in by magic; muggles are repelled by it. Wait there. Keep your cloak hood on."_

"_I have a question."_

"

* * *

After nearly losing her way four times, Pansy was finally walking through the trees towards the dark village. 700 kilometres indeed. Had he expected her to fly? The twat.

She had glanced quickly at a map before making a decision. Using an inn in Hogsmeade, she had thrown a handful of floo powder into her room's fireplace before saying the name of a pub in Brittany. It had gotten much more complicated after that.

After discreetly questioning a few locals in broken French, she had headed immediately to Paimpont. Intuition, intuition. Bollocks. She wandered for hours in the forest, following old beaten muggle paths as she froze. She had almost given up—had nearly decided to apparate back to Hogsmeade. But she thought she had spotted something moving through the trees to her right, and in a desperate attempt to reach her destination she had departed from the path and strode deeper into the woods. She had felt ridiculous, fearing that the figure could have been an animal, a shadow. But then she had found it, stumbled upon it just as she was about to turn back.

It appeared quite dead. There was one cobbled road running through the small village. The worn road was lined with rundown shops and homes, their wooden doors creaking with every gust of wind. A few shop windows glittered with light; voices could be heard from behind their doors. Pansy stood on the cobble road with apprehension, feet planted to the ground. Tall, haunting trees rose up from around the village. It was twilight, giving the place a bluish tint. In short, it was eerie.

Pansy's brow furrowed at the sound of a hiss. She turned her hooded head toward an old, broken down shop with its rotting door pushed wide open. Hesitantly, she made her way over to the shop, using her peripheral vision to watch for anyone on the streets. No one. She entered the shop and the door snapped shut behind her. A taller figure in a similar hooded cloak pulled her deeper into the small room.

"You're interested in joining," the person stated rather than asked, his deep voice penetrating the quiet of the dusty room quite suddenly. Pansy nodded. "Why do you believe you belong with us?" Pansy closed her eyes. Potter's livid face appeared behind her eyelids and she frowned.

"I don't belong anywhere else," she responded after a prolonged silence. Boldly, she reached up towards her hood and pulled the black fabric off her head. _Keep your cloak hood on_…The person cleared his throat uncomfortably.

"How old are you?" he asked, sounding unsure now. Pansy frowned disappointedly and drew herself up taller as she was taught.

"17. 18 soon, though." The figure shifted under his cloak. He wasn't taking her seriously, she could tell. She was beginning to feel nervous.

"Listen," he started, sounding irritated, "you're young." Pansy's lips thinned as she felt a tinge of annoyance. She shook her head crossly.

"I'm of age and I'm offering my services to the Dark Lord." Pansy's voice became insolent on instinct. "I doubt he cares—" Pansy was startled when a pale hand shot from the dark cloak and gripped her wrist tightly. She gasped in pain and frantically tried to pull away.

"Don't do this, Pansy," he said roughly as his other hand yanked his hood off. Pansy shrieked and felt her legs collapse beneath her. Grabbing her other wrist, he pulled her to her feet. She could feel a hot tear roll down her left cheek and her teeth begin chattering involuntarily.

"Draco?" She looked into his face; he was staring back at her angrily. He looked more tired than he had the previous year, his hair no longer finely trimmed but hanging carelessly around his face. He released her wrists.

"Why are you here?" he asked harshly, his grey eyes darkening. Pansy ignored the question.

"You're alive," she said hopefully, her hand stretching out and grazing his cold cheek. Draco flinched at the contact and pulled her hand down. He heaved an exhausted sigh.

"You call this living?" He raised his hand and motioned to the state of his robes. Pansy had hardly noticed how thread-bare they were. She couldn't take her eyes off his face. It was a miracle. He was dead. She had been sure he was dead. She swallowed painfully. Guilt washed over her. No, she hadn't been sure. It had been a moment of passion that had tricked her, had her wishing him gone. Just so she wouldn't feel guilty about being with Potter.

"Pansy, you need to leave this place." His words pulled her from her thoughts, and she looked up at his frowning face. He was still as handsome as ever, tired and messy or not. She turned her head up defiantly.

"I want to join you." She tugged on his cloak and received another exhausted sigh. She gave a small smile and gasped when he roughly grabbed her by the shoulders.

"You don't want this. It isn't glamorous, Pansy. It isn't what we thought." His weary voice had gotten softer near the end. Pansy stood dumbstruck, her eyes wide with his roughness. He turned his head with a painful expression and released her. There was a prolonged silence, neither willing to speak. At last, though, Draco took a shaky breath.

"Snape." Pansy turned her eyes to him and watched his moving lips with rapt attention. "He did so much to keep me alive. If it weren't for him, The Dark Lord would have had me killed." Pansy had a sudden freefalling feeling in her stomach. She used every bit of self-control she had to not speak; she listened to his words with a defeated expression.

"I'm in too deep and I want out." His voice cracked and she felt the sudden urge to weep. Want out? The ends of her fingers were beginning to grow cold. She was fast regretting coming here. But…she was glad she did.

"Why not leave then?" she asked, desperately trying to find a solution for him. Draco gave her an incredulous look. "I mean run away. Hide." It was more than a suggestion. She was begging him.

"I can't—I won't do that. I leave and He'll have Snape's head." Pansy rubbed her frozen hands together. She felt so cold. Seeing him, hearing his voice made everything real. He was no longer complaining about Potter and quidditch games. He was talking about death. It made her sick. _Why did I want this?_

His hands were on hers now, trying to warm them. She watched his pale hands work, rubbing hers as he spoke. "Pansy, please, just go back to school. Stay there. I know you'll be safe there." She lifted her head. He looked worried for her. She held her breath as he leaned towards her, pushing his lips to her forehead.

"Leave. I'll inform the others it was another no-show." He pulled her hood on for her. She stood disappointedly, watching him pull on his own hood. Her hand moved to touch him again, but before she could he had disapparated. She let her hand fall to her side. With a loud sniff, she too turned and disapparated.

* * *

"Well? Did you do it?" Pansy turned around, startled at the voice so late at night. Though the trip back had been much easier, she had still only just arrived in the Entrance Hall, having had to skirt around the grounds to avoid being caught by Aurors. At least Moody wasn't on duty; otherwise, she would have been caught for sure.

Blaise stepped out from the shadows, his haunting eyes glowing in the candlelight, a small smirk forming on his lips.

"No. I lost my courage." The smirk was wiped clean from his face and was replaced by a scowl. Pansy refrained from rolling her eyes.

"I went out of my way to get you that meeting," he said with frustration, fumbling through his pockets in annoyance. Pansy waited impatiently. She just wanted to go to bed.

"I know, Blaise. I'm sorry." He pulled out a cigarette and lit it with a sense of urgency. This time she did roll her eyes.

"Sorry, sorry," he muttered to himself in a falsetto voice, his lips pressed firmly around his cigarette. "This is bollocks. Fuck!" Blaise snapped. Pansy rubbed her eyes tiredly.

"It's getting late, Blaise. I'm going to bed. I really am sorry, though. I'll give you money or something," she said uninterestedly. He lifted a shaking hand and pointed it at her.

"Or something," he said through his teeth before stamping off towards the dungeons. Pansy turned and made her way up the staircase.

"Drama queen," she murmured to herself.

* * *

Why did she do it? Probably because she was scared. More scared than when she had believed Draco dead. She had recently come to terms that Draco, whether dead or alive, was never coming back. She had just accepted that she would never see him again.

And then she did. She had been stunned. It wasn't until she was safe in her bed that she realized—realized how truly frightened she was. He was alive. _But for how long? What would happen to him? Where was he staying?_ It had opened up old wounds, and she could do nothing but force sleep upon herself.

Yes. It was her fear. She was frightened and she needed to be comforted. And people had different ways of coping. That's why she did it. It was her way of coping.

"Hi, Harry." Pansy smiled half-heatedly at his stunned expression as she passed him in the hall. Of course, Harry didn't know this. He waved dazedly at her retreating back as she continued through the hall as if nothing had happened.

"What?" Harry looked around him, hoping someone else had heard her—someone who could assure him he wasn't going mad. No one, of course. No one when you wanted them, everyone when you didn't. Shrugging, he continued his trek to the Great Hall for breakfast.

No one made him more confused than Pansy did. Even Cho, with her crying, hadn't been as puzzling. At least he had had Hermione there to explain her behavior. It had only been a few days ago that he had swore at her and a few days before that when he had walked out of her room, seething. Harry swallowed a lump in his throat. Best not to think about her when he didn't have to.

But her face kept pushing its way to the front of his thoughts. Pansy, fussing over Malfoy's arm. Pansy, eavesdropping on his, Ron's, and Hermione's conversations. Pansy, conducting Weasley Is Our King. Pansy, making a crack at his love life. Pansy, stroking Malfoy's hair on the train. Pansy, crying over Him. Harry's eyes fell shut. Pansy, eyes closed as he kissed her. The way she had bucked her hips and… 'Hermione.'

"Fuck," he said loudly, scaring off a nearby Hufflepuff. She had been so angry. Really, though, he failed to see what the big deal was. Just because he had said Hermione's name certainly didn't mean he had her on the mind. Too weird. Hermione was like his sister. If Pansy understood that…And what _if _she had called him Draco? Harry took a deep breath. Maybe…

"Pst. Potter." He had nearly made it to the Great Hall doors when he had heard someone call him from the corridor that lead to the Slytherin dungeons. He squinted at the shadowy figure uneasily.

"Who is it?" Harry questioned guardedly, clutching his wand in his pocket.

"Blaise." His grip on his wand tightened. He scanned his memory furiously for information: Slug club, N.E.W.T. level Potions, Slytherin prefect, Malfoy's friend. The knot of uneasiness tightened at the last thought. The sweet scents of breakfast beckoned him to the Great Hall, but he ignored it and his grumbling stomach. Keeping his hand around his wand, he moved into the corridor.

Blaise was leaning against the wall, appearing to be itching for something, but prolonging his gratification. He stood up straight and faced Harry, his serious gray eyes meeting green.

"Just wanted to warn you," Harry's left eyebrow slowly lifted, "against Pansy." He noticed a small smile playing at the corner of his mouth.

"What?" Harry asked, startled. His heart sped up as he thought of the possible meanings behind the words. Did he know something about him and Pansy? Blaise took an amused breath.

"She's just been made a Death Eater," he drawled matter-of-factly. Harry gazed blankly at him. He hadn't been expecting that. But suddenly Pansy's friendliness made too much sense. Blaise grinned. "And I hear her first assignment is to kill you." Harry's eyes flashed suspiciously.

"You hear from whom?"

Blaise's semi-indifferent demeanor grew hostile. "A reliable source," he snapped. His fingers inching towards his pocket. Harry withdrew his wand just as Blaise pulled out his cigarettes. Feeling ridiculous, Harry pushed his wand back into his pocket hurriedly without Blaise noticing.

"I'm trying to give you a head's up, Potter," he said as he fumbled with a lighter. "Don't try and go to anyone." Blaise shook his head and exhaled a stream of smoke. "I'll deny it." Harry remained silent. He didn't know what to say. There was only one word he was thinking; it was bouncing loudly off the walls of his skull: _l__iar, liar, __liar_. But he didn't believe it himself.

"Keep an eye on Pansy. If she seems unusual, you'll know why." Blaise was about to leave, but turned back to the stunned Harry. "Oh, and be sure you're not alone with her. She won't hesitate to use the Killing Curse. Safest to get her before she gets you, if you know what I mean." The malevolence in his voice chilled Harry's bones. Blaise turned and left the corridor as nonchalantly as if they had just had a chat about Potions.

Harry pressed his forehead to the cool stone wall and tried to steady his rapid breathing. He again felt as if he were going to be sick. He was sure of it. All over the stone wall. He closed his eyes and cringed at the loud ringing of the bell. He shook his head disbelievingly before pushing himself away from the wall, suddenly not very hungry.


	8. Chapter 8

Warning: Adult language and themes present in this chapter! (_Actually, I think this chapter is moderately clean_:D)

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any of the other copyrighted characters. Credit must be given to J.K. Rowling.

* * *

Him

Chapter 8

It was one of _those_ nightmares. The one's that felt so real she was afraid to go back to sleep. Where she experienced pain—physical and emotional. Where she awoke to find tears streaming down her face, sheets tangled around your waist, fists clenched. Those nightmares took the longest to shake off. They haunted her for hours on end, making her uncomfortable around whoever had had the misfortune of appearing in it.

Pansy shot up in bed, a film of sweat on her forehead, sobbing until she realized she was back in her room. She slid her legs off the bed and reached for her glass of water, holding the lukewarm glass uneasily in her hands.

Tonight the misfortune belonged to Potter. Pansy took a sip of her water and set it back down, her arms still feeling weak and shaky.

He had hurt her. Normally, it would have left her unfazed. She had been hurt in her nightmares before. Worse things. She could usually shrug it off with the rays of morning, though. It wasn't real.

But Potter's expression…He hadn't looked angry. That was what unnerved her. _Pained_. He had looked hurt. Like she was the one pressing her wand against his throat instead of the other way around. Pansy lay back down, resting her cheek against her pillow. She wanted to sleep. But she was afraid. She was frightened that the moment she shut her eyes she would be met by him. He would hurt her again, look at her like _that_ again with his piercing green eyes.

Pansy's brow furrowed and she smiled to herself. _From darkness is born irrationality_she chided herself. She leaned forward and grabbed her wand on her nightstand, magicking a candle and finding comfort in the dull light. She sighed as she settled back into her sheets and closed her eyes.

Harry stepped into the Gryffindor common room, his mind satisfyingly blank this early in the morning. He savored the feeling while he could because he knew later his mind would be aching with thoughts.

The soft glow of the autumn sun lit the skies with blue and gray that didn't quite reach past the tower windows, leaving the common room in semi-darkness. The crackling fire in the fireplace struggled as it tried to warm the room and attempt to light it as well. There was soft murmuring from isolated areas around the room, and if they hadn't been sitting right in front of the fireplace, Harry wouldn't have spotted Ron, Ginny, and Neville lounging before breakfast.

Harry plopped down on the couch next to Ginny with a sigh, resting his head on the back of the chair as he glanced up at the dark ceiling.

"Morning, Harry," Neville greeted him.

"Morning," Harry replied without looking at him. Neville gave him an uneasy look before turning his attention to Ginny, who was attempting to snatch Arnold, the purple pygmy puff, away from Ron's grasp. Harry closed his eyes when his friends continued their previous conversation.

"No way. Canons are awful this season." He wished he hadn't closed them, though. Harry heard Ron splutter angrily before his mind began to drift.

Zabini was lying. She wasn't a Death Eater. Harry could never trust someone like Zabini. He had been friends with _Malfoy_. He stifled the voice that reminded him that Pansy had been too.

_Pansy would never—_

_How do you know what Pansy would and wouldn't do? You're not _friends_…_His sensible voice broke through and tried to reason with himself.

He just didn't want to believe it. He felt an uneasy tugging at the back of his mind.

But why would Blaise waste the time to lie to him? They barely acknowledged one another's company.

_He's untrustworthy, though._

Yes, but for some reason, people tended to believe what others told them. Others that weren't their friends.

He swallowed a lump of disbelief. He didn't know what she was capable of, but for some reason he wanted to convince himself he did. He wanted to pretend he knew her inside out. Like Malfoy must know her. His fists clenched with envy.

He really didn't know. What if—

"Right, Harry?" Harry pulled his head forward and blinked a few times at his questioning friend.

"Eh?"

"Never mind." Ron rolled his eyes. The four sat in silence for a moment, awkwardly staring at one another.

"You want to go down to breakfast?" Neville piped up.

"Yeah, I'm starving," Ginny added. The four stood with relief and lined up for the portrait.

"Pst, Harry," Ron said discreetly, leaning towards him. "You know what Lavender told me?" Ron asked, looking pleased as he smirked to himself.

"What?" Harry asked in a suppressed sly voice, watching Ron with interest. Ron's smirk widened.

"It's a secret." Ron taunted in a near-whisper. Harry narrowed his eyes in suspicion.

"Tell me," he insisted, elbowing his friend lightly as they crawled out of the portrait hole. Ron lifted his eyebrow.

"If I told you, then you'd know," Ron said a bit dryly as they trekked down the hall with a group of Gryffindors. Harry heaved an exasperated sigh.

* * *

_People need normalcy in their lives. And when normalcy is disrupted, when things change, it may be frightening. Had to be, or else people would be changing all the time. They wouldn't struggle to keep things the same._

_But why is it frightening, change? Because it's awkward, uncomfortable? Different reasons for different people. But sometimes people's fear of change is justifiable. Perhaps, for them, change is bad. That's certainly how he must have seen it. To change his feelings would be bad for him and his friends. He wanted the normalcy. He'd told her from the start. He wanted to hate her again. _

_Somewhere along the line, though, some realize it's useless, a waste of energy, to struggle. They realize it and stop kicking and biting. And maybe when they do that, they see it wasn't all that bad, maybe even like it. They stop struggling and embrace it. Then? Exhilaration. _

Harry glared at Ron, who was smirking on the other side of the transfiguration classroom with a scowling Blaise Zabini. His pulse sped up as the entire class watched him, amusement dancing in their eyes.

He had forgotten his book bag in the common room and had sprinted as fast as he could without getting in trouble. He was only three minutes late. But what a three minutes it must have been, he thought as he scanned the classroom uneasily. _This was Ron's secret._

"Well, Potter?" McGonagall gave him a stern look from her seat at her desk. "Don't just stand there. Move!" She motioned him before returning to her list. Harry swallowed a lump in his throat before sliding into his chair and glancing to his left.

Pansy was looking very pale as she chewed at the end of her quill, a habit Hermione had had. She didn't look dangerous. In fact, she looked less dangerous now than she ever had before. He made another once-over of the classroom. At least he wasn't the only one with an awkward pairing, noticing that hardly anyone appeared to be sitting with a friend. He turned his attention to McGonagall, who had risen from her seat and had come to stand at the front of the class.

"Today we will start our first research paper of the year." This was met with several groans from around the classroom. Her mouth thinned and eyes narrowed, forcing the class to grow quiet.

"You only have two others. For the second, I will allow you to choose your own partner." This produced smiles from a few girls. But they soon fell when she continued.

"Your third paper, however, is on your own."

"Wait," Ernie Macmillan interrupted. "So we only have three essays left for the rest of the year?" he asked excitedly. Neville, his partner, sat uneasily as McGonagall gave Ernie a sharp look.

"Don't be ridiculous, Mr. Macmillan. You have three research papers. That certainly doesn't encompass normal essays I assign you." She adjusted her glasses and looked out at the worried expressions. "Anyway, that isn't until later in the year." She moved back towards her desk and lifted a stack of light books.

"I will be passing around these reference manuals. They should help with your research. Whatever topic your manual reads, that will be your project." She placed a thin manual on the desk immediately in front of her, continuing to move about the classroom. "In my opinion, I'm being generous with these. But I want your papers finished by next week. Two feet." There were more groans.

"This project shouldn't be especially difficult. Whatever your topic, we've already studied in class." She said unsympathetically. Harry pinched the bridge of his nose and released a stream of air.

"I don't want to do this," Harry muttered to himself out of habit.

"What, and I do?" Pansy replied, looking hostile as she slouched further in her seat. She had kept her eyes averted the entire time. Harry's eyebrows lifted in surprise. He hadn't forgotten she had been sitting next to him. He couldn't stop thinking about it, in fact. But the comment had come out because he was used to griping with Ron. He inhaled deeply through his nose.

"No." He forced it from his mouth, glad when his voice didn't waver. "I don't reckon you do." He was disappointed when she turned forward in her seat, folding her arms and keeping to herself as McGonagall continued to weave about the class. Harry turned away from Pansy and pretended to be adjusting his glasses. But he could only do that for so long before it became awkward.

He placed his hands on the desk in front of him, his sunless fingers curled under his hands. Harry frowned when his left pinky and ring finger twitched uneasily. He could feel the warmth of his blush invade his face, and he curled his fingers tighter under his hand, making a fist. It was just…he could smell her perfume. It was triggering something uncontrollable within him. He closed his eyes as he felt his fingers twitch again.

She had looked so frightened that night in the common room. _But why?_ She had been fine soon after. It had been out of character of her, being afraid of him.

And it had intrigued him. "No sleeping in class, Mr. Potter." His eyes snapped opened in time to catch the professor slam a thin guide onto their table. Harry reached over to grab it. So did she.

His breath hitched when his finger grazed her hand, and in a moment of pure lunacy, he allowed his ring finger to hook around her pinky. Their eyes finally met and he took note of how she seemed to pale further. He savored the shockwaves that were generated from the inch or so of her skin that he was touching.

He could feel his pulse in his throat and the blood rushing in his ears. The adrenaline pumping through him was an amazing high, and he had to force himself not to completely take hold of her hand, intensify the feeling. He was almost relieved when she broke the contact, slowly pulling her right hand into her lap as she watched him uneasily. He turned forward and squeezed his eyes closed again.

She was still watching him, he could tell. He always knew when she was watching him these days. He couldn't put into words what had taken over him. It was like his twitching finger had a mind of its own. The vicinity was going to kill him. Because the truth was, as much as he told himself not to think about her or remember who she was and what she stood for, he thought about touching her, kissing her twice as much.

He cursed the day he followed her into the clearing. It must have been then, when he started to feel different towards her. Had to have been. Maybe if she hadn't been crying, he wouldn't be like this. Because that had been what made it real. Her suffering.

Before that she was just a shell. A cold, heartless, bitch of a Slytherin shell. She had liked to make his life hell, and for what? _Malfoy_. It was always to impress Malfoy, he was sure of it. Her damned tears, though. Everything was different with him now because of them.

And then she was in the common room. He had realized that she wasn't hollow, couldn't be. And that had shaken his foundation. No, crumbled it. And he supposed he had resented her for that.

He had followed her, out of curiosity and intrigue, told her he wanted to be with her, because he did. She was…different. And then she had shrugged him off. His fault, he knew, but still.

He had been frightened after the incident. He had told himself over and over that what Pansy had said about Hermione had been too much. But had known, deep down, that he hadn't really been angry that Pansy had called Hermione a mudblood. He had been angry because of the rejection. She had turned his world upside down and left him there, blood rushing to his head. That's why he had resented her. He had felt vulnerable. That, and even when he tried, he couldn't properly hate her.

And it should have come so easily, hating her, becoming angry over her calling his friend something so cruel. She was changing him, for the worst, he was afraid, and he didn't mind.

"Potter, open your eyes!" He opened them and the brightness of the room bothered him.

And what if Blaise had told him…It didn't sound outlandish. He had always thought she would try and join. But he had spent an entire night convincing himself Blaise was a liar. _Why, though?_

It made him ill. What would Ron think if he knew what he was thinking? Hermione, who had detested Pansy above all other students? It made him ill because, _yes McGonagall_, he had opened his eyes. And what he was seeing was upsetting. He wanted desperately to close them, forget her.

"Potter?" He turned to look at her. Her hands were still folded in her lap and she looked uneasy.

"What?"

"Have you been here the entire time?" She asked skeptically as she glanced over at McGonagall, who was sitting at her desk and eying them. Harry glanced around and noticed the entire class flipping through the pages of their manuals and scribbling on parchment.

"Mostly." He said coolly, slowly reaching towards the book and pulling it towards him. "What are we doing again?" He asked nonchalantly, receiving a roll of the eyes from his partner.

"Our topic is, obviously," she pointed to the title, "_Switching Spells."_ He smirked and nodded triumphantly as he noticed an Animagus book on the next desk over.

"Easy," he said, unsuccessfully scanning his brain for information on them. Hermione knew a lot about them, he remembered.

"Sure, Potter. If you consider two feet easy," she said, almost bored. Harry frowned at the thin guide. Okay, so the research part wouldn't be as simple.

"I don't like this," he voiced again, running a hand through his hair and absentmindedly ruffling it. Pansy didn't respond this time.

"When do you want to do this?" Harry asked uncertainly. Pansy looked up at the ceiling and bit down on her lower lip.

"Friday," she said reluctantly, meeting his eyes. "After dinner, in the library." Harry nodded and watched her hastily reach for her bag as the bell rang. He leaned back in his chair as she stood and watched as she was the first out the door, apparently trying to put as much space between her and the classroom as possible. Many assumed it was the classroom, anyway.

* * *


	9. Chapter 9

Warning: Adult language and themes present in this chapter!

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any of the other copyrighted characters. Credit is given to J.K. Rowling.

A/N: It has been so long, but after writing this chapter three times, I've finally settled on this. This story is about three quarters finished and the rest is already outlined, so hopefully I can hop to it. ;) Next chapter is short but serves its purpose. :o

* * *

Him 

Chapter 9

The tips of Pansy's fingers were stained black as she pressed the quill to the parchment. Harry watched as she frowned with concentration, scribbling notes from a heavy tome. The two were situated within scolding distance of Madam Pince, a fact that Harry was still slightly upset over. Every time he looked up from his book the librarian would be watching him with a stern eye. As if he was about to tap dance naked on the table top, throwing ripped book pages up like confetti in Times Square on New Year's. Trying to ignore her, he turned back to his blank sheet of parchment. He wasn't trying to be lazy, it was happening naturally. He really couldn't concentrate.

Pansy continued to scribble furiously, as if it was her only purpose in life. Every once in a while Harry would glance over at her, trying to peek at her forearm. But alas, her jumper sleeves remained firmly in place. He didn't know what to think anymore. There was a mess in his head and it needed a good cleaning. Actually, what he really wanted to do was pound his head against the old, unpolished desk. That would be cause for Pince's fury.

Restlessly, he stood up to find another book. He heaved a sigh when he was out of view of the table. He was going to have to figure something out. There was no possibility of writing two feet with her. Maybe if they split it. He thought of different ways as he walked further into the library, and consequently, where it was much darker. He squinted at titles with the light of the lone candle. _Execution__s __through__ the Ages, Traitors and how to Spot Them, Famous Killers_. Nothing useful here, he thought absentmindedly.

Something brushed past him; he turned to find Pansy standing behind him, giving him a dark look and clutching her wand. Blaise's words flitted through his mind.

"Lumos," she muttered, her light blinding him momentarily. With speeding pulse, Harry knocked the wand from her hand and grabbed hold of her arm. The light of the wand bent unusually as it rolled away from them, throwing eerie shadows around them. Pansy's eyes widened with surprise.

"What are you doing?" she asked, her voice startled and frightened. Harry grabbed the soft, dark material of her jumper and pushed it up past the elbow. A blank canvas of smooth skin stared back at him.

"Don't' hurt me Ha—" He pushed her against the wall with force and pressed his mouth against hers, abruptly cutting her words off. This is what he wanted. This is what he needed. Fuck Blaise. He had problems. He pushed his mouth harder, almost painfully, as his right arm pulled her against him. He needed her closer, make up for last time. She complied with his tacit wishes as she arched further into him.

A muffled thud and Pansy's eyes had flitted open. _Of course.__Always, _Harry thought. He pulled his mouth away from hers disappointedly when someone dropped a book somewhere a few aisles back.

They remained in the same intimate position, though, as Harry watched Pansy's eyelids fall shut again, hiding her blue eyes from him. Inclining his head, he brushed his lips against her cheek.

"I thought you were going to hex me," she whispered to him breathlessly, eyes squeezing tighter. He lowered his head further, onto her shoulder.

"Why did you follow me?" he asked against her neck, eyes closed as he memorized the scent of her perfume. Lightly floral with a hint of vanilla.

"You hadn't done any work," she replied quietly, "and I was going to force you back to the table." He smiled against her smooth skin before slowly pulling away from her.

"Better get back to work, then," he said humorously. She nodded and turned, walking back down the dark aisle and to the right. Sighing, Harry rubbed the back of his head before slumping against the wall. _Interruptions_. At least nothing to set Pansy off, this time. _Now what?_ His thought was interrupted by two soft voices nearby. Familiar voices. Cocking his head, he strained to hear what they were saying.

He walked slowly down the dark aisle and stood still against a book case.

"I'm sorry about earlier. It's just—"

"I don't want to talk about it."

"It's all been so silly. I was just angry for so long."

"Please, Pansy. I would have liked us to get back together. But there's so much I can't forget."

There was a pregnant pause and Harry wondered if they had left. He was getting ready to leave when a heavy sigh forced him to freeze.

"Fine," he heard Pansy snap. With the sound of footsteps Harry pulled away from the bookcase and furrowed his brow. Why was she talking to him? What was going on? Was this what had been bothering her earlier? Harry frowned with unease as he started back for the table. Had they dated? Maybe. When, though? And was she trying to get back with him? The questions flooded his mind as he approached the table. Pansy was already sitting, scribbling quickly with frustration once more. She glanced at him momentarily before turning back to the parchment.

"Could you perhaps start doing something productive," she said bitingly without looking at him. _Here we go again_, Harry thought as he picked up his quill, still unable to escape his thoughts.

* * *

_Pansy, what is he doing in here? He can't come in here. __This is—wait__! He definitely can't go in your room. That's—_

* * *

Harry rolled over, breathing heavily and covered in a film of sweat. Closing his eyes, he pulled a breathless Pansy against him. It wasn't exactly as romantic as he had probably fantasized, she thought, smirking at the thought of candles and rose petals. Pansy wasn't one for romance, though. She did what she wanted, no pun intended, and something inside her had wanted Potter desperately. Probably the way he had kept glancing over at her in the library, after their little run in near the bookshelves. He could have easily said no. But she knew men.

She watched as his breathing steadied. She had tried to reason with herself earlier. But somewhere along the way it stopped mattering. All of it. Her parents weren't here. Neither were her close friends. And Draco. Who knew where he was. She wasn't—couldn't wait around for him anymore. It was too painful. She pressed her lips to Harry's chest.

"Harry?" she asked softly, turning her head to look up at him.

"Hm?" he sounded, eyes still closed.

"Why _did_ you kiss me, that first time?" she wondered aloud as her left hand drew circles on his back. He smiled.

"I don't know. A lot of stupid reasons," he said, his voice tired. "I remember you looked very pretty. I'm glad I did, though." She agreed that it was a stupid reason, smirking and letting her head fall back to the pillow. She didn't know if anything would come from this. Tomorrow he could go back to hissing rude things as she passed and she could continue to be a bitch to him, and that was alright. At least, she tried to convince herself that it would be.

"Harry?" she asked again. This time there was no response besides his soft snoring. Pansy closed her eyes too and fell asleep soon after. The portrait of Draco was seething.

* * *

Harry awoke early, the sky still reasonably dark outside the window. Pansy was sleeping heavily next to him, her dark hair in a tangled mess around her face. The corners of Harry's mouth upturned slightly, though he was grinning inwardly. She rolled around a lot in her sleep.

Yawning, he rubbed his eyes before reaching towards the nightstand for his glasses. He stretched in bed before rolling over and pulling on his boxers.

It was much cooler, chilly even, outside the covers. Hurriedly, he pulled on the rest of his clothes, trying to preserve his body heat. Last night had—well, it all happened quickly. He knew what he had been doing and didn't regret it. Yet …

He worried it hadn't meant much to Pansy. He cringed at how sappy he was sounding in his own head. He doubted Malfoy ever thought the things he was thinking now. That was him, though.

He glanced over at Pansy when he had finished changing. He still couldn't escape thoughts of her in the library, talking to _him_. That was so unusual, and he was a bit upset over it. Why _had_ she been talking to him? His stomach grumbling, he tried desperately to force the thought from his head, for now.

Pansy was still fast asleep. First he'd go back to his dorm to shower and change. Then breakfast. He could stew over his thoughts then. He glanced at Pansy's desk and the supplies they had abandoned there after Madam Pince had kicked them out of the library at closing. He groaned inwardly. Feeling guilty, he reluctantly sat down in the chair and picked up the quill, forcing it down on the blank parchment.

* * *

Pansy made it to breakfast relatively early. She had awoken to Harry already gone and, to her pleasant surprise, a finished essay on her desk. Whether it was any good, she hadn't cared, because she wasn't Granger or some Ravenclaw. She had glanced at Draco's portrait as she was dressing; he had had his back turned to her. Feeling a surge of guilt, she had grabbed the frame and shoved it into her trunk. Now, though, she was pushing her plate of eggs around as she watched students trickle in.

Harry was across the room, sitting between Weasley and the Irish one. She tried not to look over to him too often, see if he was having a good time like she wasn't, because Blaise had insisted on sitting to her immediate right. Scowling, she looked over at him again. He wore a sour face that rivaled hers as he sipped his pumpkin juice; he was watching her too.

"Fuck, Blaise. You keep looking at me like that and I'll hex you're balls off," she seethed. Blaise slammed down his cup and glared at her, eyes glinting in the morning sunlight.

"You're one to talk," he said darkly before leaning closer to her. "I won't forget so easy. I risked a lot to get you in with them," he said harshly, his hands gripping the table and her chair as he leaned even closer, his mouth nearly touching her ear. "I could have gotten in trouble with either of them, the ministry or Death Eaters. Could have been thrown in Azkaban for a few months. All that for you to just change your mind." He pulled away and Pansy gave him an unsympathetic look.

"Please, Blaise," she said quietly enough for her other housemates not to hear, "you must stop overdramatizing everything. That was one quality I've always hated about you." Blaise frowned and turned back to his plate. "Besides," she said to his profile, "you could have just said no when I asked. If anything, you have yourself to blame." Blaise didn't respond but simply continued with his meal without looking at her. She wasn't about to let him guilt her into feeling sorry for him. She had learned a long time ago how to handle him.

Looking up, she saw Harry was already gone. Smirking, she pushed her chair back and started for the Great Hall doors. It was the weekend. Plenty of time for games and recreation before Monday classes, if he wanted to play. _But first I have to find him_, she thought, hardly noticing that she was actually seeking out Harry Potter.

She didn't have to go far when a hand tugged on her arm, causing a squeak of surprise to escape from her mouth. She barely had time to look up at Harry before he was pulling her with him into a dark broom closet.

"Potter, I will hurt you," she said half-heartedly, unable to scowl with the grin on her face so unwavering. Harry grunted as he kissed her neck fervently, already fumbling with her shirt buttons. This weekend would be the best she'd had all year.

* * *

The classroom was relatively loud with busy chatter that Monday afternoon. Most of the students were scrambling to get something going with their essays. Harry and Pansy, though, sat with their books closed at the very back of the classroom.

"I'm hungry," Harry complained as he stroked his finger across Pansy's hidden hand. She looked at him with a nervous eye as she pulled her hand away and back onto her lap. He was already sitting too close. She prayed no one had noticed. Harry was being stubborn, though. He grabbed her hand under the desk and clasped it with is.

"Don't," she said anxiously, eyeing the nearest classmates. No one was even looking their way. But still.

"Will you stop worrying?" he griped as he gave her a mischievous smile. Pansy pulled her hand away from his again at the sight of McGonagall making her way towards them. Harry frowned and looked up just as the teacher stopped in front of their desk.

"Are you two working?" she asked suspiciously, looking down at their books. She had her hands on her hips and was ready to scold. Harry sat up.

"No, Professor," Harry said, noticing McGonagall's mouth grow thin with irritation. "We're already finished." McGonagall's eyebrows shot up suddenly and her mouth opened a fraction.

"Really?" she asked speculatively, holding her hand out. Harry pulled the scroll out from his bag and handed it to her. The teacher pulled it open and scanned it quickly.

"Well, it's not great, but it'll do. Potter, Parkinson, you're excused then." She gave them each a nod of respect before turning around, robes sweeping gloriously as she moved on to the next victims. Pansy sighed in relief. Harry grinned and with sheer audacity leaned sideways, pressing his mouth to hers. Pansy turned her head before glaring at him.

"Harry!" she whispered furiously as she packed her bag.

"No one was watching," he assured her, gathering his things up as well.

"For your sake, I hope you're right." She clasped her bag shut before standing, this time really gathering the attention of her classmates. Harry followed as she exited the classroom, waving to McGonagall so the others wouldn't think anything of it.

"Pansy," Harry said ruefully as she walked off towards her chambers. Her dark hair bounced behind her in a taunting manner.

"Harry, you do crazy things without thinking about the consequences. You make me nervous sometimes," she stated matter-of-factly as he caught up to her. She pushed a large tapestry aside and began making her way up the dark staircase.

"Relax," Harry said, wrapping his arms around her waist and in turn abruptly ending her journey. From behind her he unclasped her cloak and cupped her breasts, still confined behind her school jumper. He could picture her scowl as he gently pushed her against the wall. She was smiling mischievously, though, and Harry couldn't stop himself from going straight for her neck. She sighed heavily as his tongue worked up to her jaw.

Not here, Pansy thought as she pushed her body harder against his uncontrollably. Pressing his lips to hers, Harry finished what he had started in Transfiguration. He opened his mouth, pushing his tongue forward to meet hers. It really wasn't the place and time, but Harry couldn't stop now. Their breathing was heavy and few things could stop him now.

The two cringed at the sound of the school bell. Except that. Any moment students would be flooding the halls, more than a few into this corridor. Their position, with Pansy pushed against the wall and leg held firmly up by Harry, was a little more than uncompromising. Sighing, Harry released her and pulled away. Pansy picked up her forgotten bag and cloak.

"I'm going to lunch," Harry stated. Pansy nodded and he watched her continue up the stairs in silence, robe a little rumpled and hair out of place. Grabbing his own bag, he took the steps down quickly and emerged back in the cold corridor. Ron was there to greet him.

"Hello, Ron," Harry greeted cheerily. Ron gave him a small smile.

Harry walked with his friend in near-silence, save for the bustling of what was left of the Hogwarts population. Ron was behaving unusually, though. He appeared a little moody.

"Something wrong, Ron?" he asked as they pushed past some giggling Hufflepuffs. Ron gave him an annoyed look. He'd seen that look a few times before.

"You're already finished with your essay," Ron stated, keeping his eyes forward. Harry glanced sideways at his friend. Was he serious?

"Yes. Just two days early." He wanted to roll his eyes, but refrained. The things his friend got angry over were so ridiculous. "Do you want me to help you or something?" Ron stopped dead in his track and gave Harry a dark look. Harry clenched his jaw as Ron opened the door to an empty classroom and motioned to him, his face beet red.

"I don't need your help," Ron spat after clicking the door shut. He folded his arms as Harry's eyebrows shot up.

"OK," Harry said hastily, holding up his arms in defense. Ron shook his head.

"It's not that. I saw you kiss her in class." Harry's stomach dropped.


	10. Chapter 10

Warning: Adult language and themes present in this chapter!

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any of the other copyrighted characters. Credit is given to J.K. Rowling.

A/N: I'll be a lot busier in the coming weeks, with moving and classes starting back up, but I will have some time to write coming up. If you don't see eleven up in at least two weeks, do feel free to poke me. Hard. That way I won't leave this sitting around for another year. ;) Thanks to everyone who has read and reviewed! Feedback is always loved. Unless its scathing and hurts my feelings. ;)

* * *

Him

Chapter 10

"I saw you kissing when I turned around." Ron shook his head. Harry remained silent as his angry friend stood next to an old, dusty desk, looking as though he wanted to wrestle with it. Should he deny? What good that would do, he didn't know.

"She's no good, Harry," Ron said, unfolding his arms. He stood tall and seemed certain in the truth of the statement, nodding once as though it would help convince. Harry looked up into his friends eyes, feeling his blood begin to boil.

"You don't know her," Harry snapped. He curled his fists as he felt the anger building within him, settling around his ears. Ron snorted and rolled his eyes, walking over to Harry and gripping his shoulder. It was probably meant as a friendly gesture, but it only served to further anger him.

"You don't either, mate. She's bad news. Don't get involved with her." Harry felt something well up inside him; he couldn't decide where it came from, but it hung around his heart and blinded him from rational thought.

"Involved with her?" In a sudden fury he shoved Ron backward, against the door. Caught off guard, Ron's frustration turned into shock as his Harry's furious eyes bore into his.

"What—"

"What is going on between you two?" Harry demanded, his voice carrying to every crevice of the disused room. Why he was getting so angry over someone he wasn't really seeing he didn't know. At the moment, all he knew was anger and jealousy, and he wanted answers.

"Watch'a mean?" Ron spluttered. His ears were red and it didn't go unnoticed by Harry.

"I heard you two talking in the library on Friday." Ron jerked away from Harry, giving him a look as if he had just insulted his mother.

"Nothing!" he snapped darkly, readjusting his bag and smoothing his robes. "There is nothing and will always be nothing. I'm telling _you_, though, to remember she's no good." And with that Ron threw open the door and slammed it behind him, leaving a burst of dust from the frame to drift slowly through the air. Harry grimaced. Lunch was the furthest thing from his mind.

* * *

_She was good enough_, Harry thought as they sat in their undergarments in her window seat, her back pressed against his chest. It was snowing outside, the grounds covered with fresh white powder that was too bright to stare at directly. There was a small draft pushing past the old window frame, but they used their body heat to keep warm. Pansy gazed off into the distance, melancholy painted upon her face. He didn't want to know what she was thinking.

"We never talk," he said softly. She turned her head and met his probing eyes. His glasses lost somewhere near the bed, she was the only thing in the room he could see clearly. She looked like she hadn't quite heard him.

"We've never talked," she replied, her voice scratchy from disuse. Harry gave her a look but she turned back to the window. Sighing, he pushed her hair over her shoulder and pressed his lips to her back.

"Would you talk to me?" Harry asked, holding her tighter. He couldn't see her face; he didn't know what she was thinking. "Tell me about your life." He felt her exhale quickly with amusement.

"It's not as interesting as yours has been, I assure you," she said, her voice not bothering to mask the humor. Harry smiled and watched the snowflakes fall.

"Good," he replied. There was a pregnant pause before she groaned.

"Well, I was born in Hogsmeade." She pointed out past the trees. "We moved south when I was five, though. My childhood was very boring," she inserted before continuing. "Well, I thought it was exciting at the time, but looking back—

"I only had a few good friends when I was younger. I grew apart from all of them when I came to Hogwarts. I met Draco and the lot when I was sorted into Slytherin. I was always a bratty kid, but I suppose they cultivated who I am today.

"My parents are the epitome of boring. My father works for the ministry. My mother—works for the ministry. Both in the Department of who cares," she began to drawl as she spoke, something he noted she did when she wasn't fond of a subject.

"My father always let me run free. I was pretty much aloud to do anything I wanted, so long as I wasn't breaking ministry law, though I pushed that to the limits a few times. My mother wasn't around often enough to discipline me. I've never been close with my mum. But it's fine. I prefer it that way." Harry had the feeling she hadn't added the last part for his benefit. He frowned.

Harry had something on his mind but held it off for the moment. "And that's your life story?" he asked speculatively. She turned and grinned at him and he gave her an expectant look.

"Basically," she said, "minus a lot of things that I won't bother with unless you're really really curious." There. He pounced on the opportunity. She had practically invited him to ask questions. Frowning, he gave her a serious look.

"Did you and Ron ever—were you two ever together?" Pansy's eyebrows shot up and she scoffed.

"What?" she exclaimed, twisting around and giving him an incredulous look.

"Weasley? Are you mad?"

"I overheard you in the library, talking," he accused, his grip on her loosening. She frowned and turned away from him.

"That's stupid, Harry."

"But I heard you two talking about getting back together." He tried to control it, but a bit of anger seeped into his voice.

"No—"

"I did."

"No!" she snapped. "You didn't. Listen to me. Me and Ron—we—he was my best friend when I was a kid. We did everything together." Her voice grew soft.

"And when I was sorted into Slytherin, well, he was a little more than upset. He saw me as a traitor, I think." She began to draw pictures with her finger on the frosty window pain.

"That really angered me. We grew apart, obviously. But I was very vindictive about it. As you know, I did a lot of things through the years to make him as miserable as possible." She sighed.

"But recently, with the mu—Granger gone, I've felt a little sympathetic towards him. You know? I tried apologizing to him, to mend things between us. I ran into him in the hallway, on my way to the library. But he doesn't want that. I was a little angry, but it's fine. And that's that," she said with a note of finality, cutting off any more invitations for questions.

"Oh," Harry said softly, feeling guilty. And yet the thought of Ron and Pansy once being friends bothered him.

Pansy screamed suddenly and Harry jumped, startled by the sound. On the ledge of the window sat a large owl clutching a package in its talons. Pansy apologized for screaming and Harry brushed it off as they both stood. Pansy unlatched the window and pushed it open, a gust of wind and snow stinging them both as the bird hopped into the window seat. Harry clenched his jaw as she pushed the window shut, trying not to focus too much on the material of her bra as she nipped from the cold.

"What is it?" Harry asked, half curious, half suspicious. Pansy remained silent as she walked over to her desk for her wand, conjuring a bowl of water for the exhausted owl. Only after she had seen that the owl was well taken care of did she pick up the brown package, frowning at the scrawling on the front. She sighed.

"Birthday gift from my parents," she said forlornly, ripping open the paper carelessly, as if she had done it a million times before. Her mood quickly changed though when she had uncovered the package. She cooed softly as she ran her hand over the smooth wooden cover of a music box.

"How did they know?" she wondered aloud, cheerfully opening it. The music tinkled its tune off the stone walls before she slammed the lid shut, eyes gleaming excitedly.

"From your parents?" Harry asked calmly, his visage serious. Pansy's mouth turned sideways thoughtfully, something he hadn't seen her do before.

"My dad. I saw it in a shop window two summers ago. I didn't have a reason to get it, though. How did he know?" She grinned, looking truly baffled. Harry lifted his eyebrow. He didn't think she was one to refrain from buying because she didn't need something.

"Why didn't you tell me it was your birthday?" Harry asked, looking nearly hurt. He tried to hide his disappointment from her, though, as he looked her straight in the eye. He supposed they weren't dating or anything. And what they were doing was still fairly new. Pansy looked nearly annoyed.

"I didn't think it was worth mentioning," she said calmly. Harry knew that couldn't be it. The annoyance on her face kept him from prying, though.

"Well, happy 18th then." He smiled before taking hold of her hand and pulling her towards her bed. Her frown turned into a smirk and she laughed wholeheartedly as he raised his eyebrows suggestively.

* * *

He was going to get her something. He had decided when they were still in bed. He didn't know what, though. He trudged through the thick, frozen snow towards Hogsmeade, feeling the bottom of his cloak soaking. Moody was trailing a few feet behind him, much to his annoyance, his magical eye swiveling every which way. He supposed it was part of protocol; they certainly weren't going to take exception to him.

He exhaled noisily as he continued down the icy slope, the village in sight.

* * *

Pansy smiled to herself as she walked around the abandoned grounds, the music box clutched in her hands. The sound of the light breeze carrying snowflakes through creaking tree branches calmed her, and for the first time in a long time she felt fine. It was really all fine. She didn't know where Harry had run off to. Frankly, she was enjoying the time to herself.

They had spent nearly winking moment in one another's company for the past week. She was a bit…wary. She wasn't sure what was going on between them. It was hard. They definitely weren't in a relationship. The thought made her scoff. But what about later? She frowned. She was afraid she was making a big mistake. Something would happen. She could feel it in her gut, churning as it made her sick. Maybe that's why she tried not to talk so much. It was bound to break. If she didn't open her mouth too often then maybe it would last longer. She knew her mouth was the source of a lot of fury between them in the past.

But she wasn't all sure that she liked what they had right now. All they ever did was screw. Merlin. Day and night. She didn't quite understand why she kept on with it. It wasn't bad, it was just—it wasn't what she had been expecting. She sighed nervously, trying to recapture the solace she had enjoyed moments before. She didn't know what she had been expecting. But Harry kept—he was getting too close. He shouldn't be asking for her life stories and such. Didn't he know they were a hair's breadth away from fizzling? She couldn't end it, though.

She walked towards the tree enclosure that she used to visit so often. She hadn't been back in so long. She hadn't needed to. She frowned as she absentmindedly started to walk in the foot prints left in the snow. How the hell was it already the end of November? Time had flown by. Clumsily, she ran head on into something. Scowling, she looked up, just managing to stifle a frightened scream at the cloaked figure before her.

* * *

Harry held the wrapped package under his arm as he walked swiftly to the Three Broomsticks with Moody, trying to escape the icy afternoon storm. He brushed off questions of what was in the package and it was soon forgotten when they entered the warm bustling of the tavern. Undoubtedly, Moody had just taken a glance at it with his magical eye and was satisfied.

The taps were flowing and people were singing, something Harry was caught off guard by, used to the gloominess of Hogwarts. Something else he wasn't expecting was Ron, across the room, motioning to him.

With some confusion, Harry pushed past the crowd and reached his friend, whom he hadn't spoken much in the past week. Ron either hadn't noticed or didn't care, for he was grinning as he drew closer, Moody in tow and looking as if the meeting had been planned.

"There you are!" Ron exclaimed, as if he hadn't seen Harry enter the pub at all. "I couldn't find you this morning. Where were you?" Ron asked, leading Harry up a stone staircase and through a short hallway. Harry tried to think of an explanation, his mouth opening then closing. Ron gave him a suspicious look.

"Never mind," Ron brushed off his question as he stood in front of an old wooden door. He motioned to Harry to go first. Reluctantly, and with much confusion, Harry, with his package still firmly under his arm, clutched the doorknob and pushed it open slowly. The door creaked, its hinges old and never oiled, and a slit of the room became visible—then more and more as he pushed it backed.

Harry choked as a wild-haired woman stood and smiled warmly, walking quickly over to him, arms open wide.

"Harry!" Hermione exclaimed, her brown eyes warm with joy as she hugged him.

"Oh my god."

* * *

"Merlin," Pansy choked as her music box fell to the ground. _Swan Lake_ tinkled from the ground, suddenly more eerie than sweet as a heavy wind picked up, blowing snow around in whirlwinds.

"Draco," she said weakly, embracing him with a racing pulse.


End file.
